


i'm the prince, stop running away from me

by whimsofffate



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Dragons, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Nearly Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining Noctis, Sharing Body Heat, wow what a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsofffate/pseuds/whimsofffate
Summary: “I’ll show him.” Noct hisses, as he rearranges the pillows. “Stupid Prompto, and his-” he smooths the satin cover, “stupid blonde hair-” he squashes the sides together, engorging it to a plump volume, “and his stupid blue eyes-” he punches the pillow, watching the resultant dip in the middle, “and his stupid grin-”Noct stares, panting and incensed, at his pillow. It’s plumper than it was before, but there are also bright yellow feathers drifting alarmingly at its sides.Looks a bit like his godsawful chocobo hair, now,Noct thinks victoriously.(( alternatively, 21k of awkward Noct getting himself into awkward situations with a nearly-as-awkward Prompto, except in a medieval setting this time. ))





	1. Our Beginnning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chikelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikelo/gifts).



> me: ah, so _that's_ when your birthday is!! I'm going to write a fic for you!! this is going to be great!!!  
>  me@ me, 21k of worldbuilding later: what in fresh hell have you d o n e
> 
> Happy birthday, chikelo! You like Promptis, and you also like medieval shazzles, so I thought I'd mash the two up for you. <3
> 
> I... don't know where I was going with this? At first, I was going to make it more historically accurate, but then I realised that this is a Final Fantasy fic... a _fantasy_... so that was thrown out of the window, oops. Anyway, for convenience, Regis became a chill dad who lets his son do whatever craziness he wants to do, and Noct became the awkwardest awkward you've ever seen awkward. I think the fic became more fun, that way. 
> 
> Most of the writing in this fic was spent listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgtRqwfJGbI) (BECAUSE IT'S CAMELOT, LMAO. HOW COULD I NOT?) 
> 
> Honestly, as long as this makes you laugh, I've done my job. :')
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT:** SO SHE'S ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AND LITERALLY WENT AHEAD AND DREW STUNNING ART FOR THIS!! AND I'VE BEEN SCREAMING FOR THE PAST HOUR!! here's the absolute [MASTERPIECE](https://chikelo.tumblr.com/post/172737894183/they-did-a-number-on-you-didnt-they-the) <33 i think the cause of death on my gravestone is just going to be labelled 'happiness.' with a massive full stop, because I feel so very blessed right now. ♥

Noct decides that the next time he comes to these woods, he's bringing a damn map.

“Ignis?” he calls warily into the clearing. The trees only wave their branches, mockingly, and there’s no Ignis popping up with handfuls of herbs to direct him, either.

This is _all_ Gladio’s fault.

Noct circles round, checking the undergrowth and then the canopies with increasing desperation. This part of the forest is eerily silent; he can’t even hear the birds tweeting babbles of songs like they usually do this early in the morning.

His retainers have also disappeared, which presents quite the problem.

“Of all the times…” he mutters to himself. “Gladio! Ignis!”

He’s met with silence. Fantastic.

Noct huffs a long-suffering sigh. Adjusting the sword at his hip, he starts to make his way forward. He’s not - he’s not _lost,_ that’s for sure. Just a bit disorientated.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Ravus taunts him from the back of his head. _You have never been here before, you imbecile,_ it sneers. _You are_ most definitely _lost._

Noct promptly squashes it down.

“Shut up,” he mutters, before realising that he’s begun to talk to _himself._

This forest is definitely dangerous, he decides. Noct begins to quicken his step.

It had been his father’s idea in the first place, to send Noct - along with Gladio and Ignis - to clear out a cluster of Killer Wasps that had been terrorising the local villagers. Truthfully, Noct had wanted to hide away in the palace lake and fish to his heart’s content, but when it came down to it, he didn’t really _mind._ It was his father asking, after all.

Noct’s been walking forward for quite some time, now. The path is getting narrower and narrower with every step, and the trees are closing in on either side of him, blocking out the last dwindling remnants of sunlight. His skin feels colder to the touch, and he bristles.

 _Not lost,_ Noct reminds himself, firmly. _Disorientated. That’s all._

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when his toe hits something decidedly solid. Noct looks down, puzzled.

It looks like a tiny bell. He grimaces as he kneels down ( _why_ was he wearing the princely attire _today,_ of all days?) and gently lifts the object into his hands.

The silver body shimmers enticingly in the feeble sunshine. When Noct turns it onto its side, he sees that it’s intricately carved with an unfamiliar insignia - a dragon, he thinks - and the letters _P.A._

He gives it an experimental shake, but to his surprise, there’s no sound.

“Huh,” Noct wonders aloud. Whoever P. A. is, they’ve got quite the instrument.

He’s just about to ring it again, out of pure curiosity, when his tunic’s roughly grabbed from behind and he’s hoisted upwards.

“Agh-!”

The bell slips through his fingers, although that’s the last of Noct’s worries right now. Noct twists and turns, desperately trying to shake off the meaty hand that’s wrapped around the base of his neck, but it’s to no avail - all the air’s been expelled from his lungs, and he can barely _breathe,_ let alone fight back.

The hand tightens around his neck, and Noct’s sure he can _constellations_ at this point. There’s a hint of black creeping around the edge of his vision. His hands scrabble uselessly at his sides, but his sword is impossibly far away.

He feels a hot puff of rancid breath against his neck, before he’s slammed face first into a tree trunk.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here, boys!”

There’s an eruption of raucous laughter, all of which is decidedly masculine. Dazedly, Noct tries to move his head. His earlier exertion has tired him out, though, because he can’t move _anything._ He can’t even wipe away the blood that’s trickling from his nose, because his hands are twisted uncomfortably at his lower back.

“Wha-?” he manages, and that one syllable is enough to leave him gasping.

“Ooh,” the man purrs, “seems like the Crown Prince’s havin’ a little… _trouble._ Want us to help you out?”

If he could, Noct would visibly recoil from this bandit. As it is, he can’t, so the foul breath continues to pervade his nostrils - however much he _really_ doesn’t want it to.

A part of him desperately wishes that Ignis and Gladio were here, but the other part is glad that they haven’t been captured, too. And that they can’t see him like _this._

“‘Ere, look! He’s got some serious gil on him!”

“Oi, hands off! The sword’s mine!”

“Think his old man’ll cough up if we send along a ransom?”

Noct bristles, and grits his teeth. _Bastards._

One by one, Noct’s possessions are stripped off his person, and he feels uncomfortably bare. More than that, he feels indignance pooling in his gut, with a dash of added rage. The harsh bark is still cutting into his skin, and he’s sure that he’ll be left with a couple of scars after this.

Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, brought to his knees by the common bandit? He wants to scoff. He wants to retrieve his sword and stick it down their throats, one by one.

He also wants to melt into a puddle, or trickle into a pond and contribute to the ecosystem of the common Lucian catfish, because how - _how -_ has he been cornered by _bandits,_ of all people?

Ravus is _never_ going to let him forget about this.

“Hey, Prince Charming. Got anything to say?”

It’s the man who’s grabbed him. Logically, Noct knows that the best way to escape unscathed is to offer him all the remaining gil in his wallet, or the surprisingly expensive daggers he’s still got hidden in his boot (because these bandits are _amateurs,_ and have no idea where to look.)

He twists his head around, and glares into the bandit’s face. He’s even uglier than Noct had first imagined: all blackening teeth, and watery yellow eyes, and straggly hair that looks as if it had been dragged through excrement and left to fester.

The bandit grins widely, unwittingly blowing vile miasma into Noct’s eyes. He’s waiting for an answer, or for Noct to grovel for mercy, it seems.

“Not really, no,” Noct bites out instead, and spits into his face.

For a moment, there’s a deafening silence. The bandit’s mouth is hanging open, the glob of spit trickling down his sunken cheeks, and Noct feels pretty pleased about himself. Then:

“You wretched _brat!_ ” he roars, and Noct only has time to smirk victoriously before he’s wrenched off the tree and flung onto the earth.

 _Ow,_ he thinks immediately, followed by: _Iggy's gonna kill me._

His face is pressed into the gritty soil, and even as he makes to stand up, the sole of a boot presses insistently into his spine. Hot white bursts of agony shoot from the point of contact, because the bastard’s pressing _right_ on his old injury.

Noct bites his lip in order to stay silent. He tastes bitter iron on his tongue, and vaguely, he registers that his thumb is bent at a sickening angle.

“Now, _Your Highness,”_ the man seethes, leaning his weight onto his right leg, as Noct fights back a groan. “How ‘bout we try that again?”

From his peripheral vision, Noct can see that the other ruffians are advancing around him, forming a tight, sinister ring. Even if he tries to get up, one of them can easily pull him back -  and he can barely see straight, let alone stumble to his feet.

Noct’s considering a lot of options. None of them seem favourable, and for about the hundredth time this morning, he’s really wishing he has his retainers with him.

“Well?” the man growls.

This is absolutely _humiliating._

“If you let me go, I could arrange a haircut for you in the castle,” Noct says quickly, a split second before he thinks that this is, quite possibly, a bad idea. “I think it’d be beneficial for you. Don’t you agree?”

_Gods, me and my big mouth-_

At least he knows now that those lessons in negotiation were of absolutely no use - just one more thing for Ignis to lecture him about. _Why the hell would I say that?_

Amusingly, the bandit tilts his head at first, as if considering his offer. Noct holds his breath, silently daring to hope that he was as thick as he looked-

“Wait. _What_ did you just say?”

Apparently not.

“I’m being perfectly serious,” Noct tries to reason, as the man’s face starts to mottle to a deep red - like the skies over Duscae, but much uglier.

“You - you piece of _shit!”_ the bandit roars, spit flying in all directions. Noct has time to think that that’s very ironic, indeed, before he lifts his boot up with an ugly snarl.

Noct closes his eyes, and braces himself.

“Unhand him!”

It takes some time for the new voice to register in his mind, since he’s so focused on blocking out the coming blow; but when it does, Noct’s eyes fly open - just in time to witness an arrow embedding itself deep within his captor’s chest.

The bandit’s eyes widen comically, before he topples backwards and falls as a heap onto the floor, like an unwanted sack of potatoes at the market.

_What?_

Noct lifts his head groggily, and surveys his surroundings. His eyes scan the foliage for a sign of his… saviour, but there’s nothing.

The other ruffians still have clunky clubs at hand, but there’s an air of apprehension about them, too. Some have even started to back away, wild looks in their eyes. The leader is unmoving.

“Return his possessions. _Now,_ " the mystery archer intones. His voice carries well through the clearing, silvery and assertive - and Noct thinks that it's easy on the ears, too.

“Yeah? Or what?” one of the ruffians - a particularly reckless one, Noct thinks - jeers. “Whaddya gonna do? Shoot us? You’re outnumbered!”

There’s a deafening pause, in which Noct waits anxiously on the floor. Then, he distinctly hears a tinkling laugh, hidden deep within the trees.

“Oh? A challenge? Don’t mind if I do... _”_ the archer muses, quietly, before nocking an arrow.

 _His voice is pretty nice,_ Noct mind supplies unhelpfully, before a dark blur whizzes past him.

In the span of about ten seconds, there are four arrows sticking out of the remaining four men’s chests, and they all fall to the floor simultaneously, like the towering stack of books in the library.

Noct stares, slack-jawed at the scene. Dimly, he remembers that his hand’s still twisted in an awkward position, and that it doesn’t feel like a normal hand should.

He’s not particularly focused on that, though. Rather, he’s fixated on the hooded archer, who’s casually wrenching the arrows out of the bandits and cleaning them on the soil, as if it were a normal training exercise.

“Who…” Noct says, but his throat is dry as hay, and the words come out as a hoarse whisper. He clears his throat and tries again. “Who are you?”

“Ah! There you are!” the archer calls, brightly. He skips to where Noct’s lying dazed on the ground, before tossing his head back to shake off the hood.

 _Astrals,_ is the first thought to cross Noct’s mind, because, really… Astrals.

Tousled, golden locks frame striking violet eyes, coupled with dewy skin dotted with thousands of freckles. Noct has a sudden urge to count them all, but he’s also too distracted by that lovely voice that’s speaking again.

“Hi, Highness!” the archer chirps, giving him a wide grin. “Are you okay?”

Noct swallows, and he tries very hard to keep gazing into those violet eyes.

_Not. Now. The Prince of Lucis is strong in the face of adversity! Focus!_

“They did a number on you, didn’t they?” the archer murmurs, eyes raking over Noct’s battered form. Gods - does he know that his eyes _glitter_ in the sunlight? “Here, let me.”

Even his hands are pleasant to the touch; soft as silk, and smelling of berries and rivers and mountains and grass and everything that he could possibly associate with the pure, unadulterated wild.

Noct swallows again. While the archer is carefully tilting his aching hands in his warm fingers, Noct manages to find his voice.

“I - I must thank you,” he says, and thankfully his voice is steady. “You saved my life. Is there any way I can-”

Noct’s cut off when the archer waves his hands genially. “Couldn’t do to just leave the Crown Prince with a bunch of thugs, hm?” he smiles. “And anyway, I heard you. You weren’t exactly _helpless._ Quite the quick tongue you’ve got, actually. ”

“On the contrary-” Noct tries to argue, before he’s cut off again.

“It’s fine, Highness. I happened to be looking for something, anyway, and you happened to be on the same path as me. I’ll just set this, and let you be off on your way.”

Noct looks down at his hand, and instantly grimaces. His thumb is bent at an impossible angle, and he’s had enough of his tutor’s lessons to know what that means.

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” he sighs, and Prompto nods sympathetically.

“Yeah. I’ll be quick, though - promise!”

He seals the deal with a wink, and Noct feels his traitorous heart jump _again._ He wills it to still just as quickly.

“Thank you, Sir-?”

“Just Prompto is fine. On the count of three?”

Prompto. Oddly, it’s a fitting name for this dashing rogue. “I’m ready when you are,” Noct exhales, slowly, and tips his head back and tries to think of those violet eyes again.

He feels pressure on the joint of his thumb, although it’s quickly blinded by a squelching _crunch_ and a sharp shot of pain that has Noct buckling at the knees and squeezing his eyes with as much force as he can muster.

“Ah!” he hisses, and Prompto shoots him an apologetic smile.

“Hey, we’re done. You were good. Here, I’ve got a potion, too - this should help with your neck.”

Prompto rummages in the pocket of his hood for a second, before bringing out a crystal-blue vial with a soft _ta-dah!_ Noct can’t help but chuckle at the sight, even if he’s still wincing from the electric throbbing in his thumb.

He wants to thank him again for the services he’s offered, and for the kindness he’s shown him. He also wants to ask what exactly Prompto was looking for, so that he could return the favour.

“Where did you learn to shoot a bow so quickly?” he asks instead, and Noct immediately wants to hit himself with his fishing rod.

“Where did _you_ learn to banter with bandits so rudely?” Prompto quips back, crooked grin forming on his face. Noct feels laughter bubble at the base of his throat; it’s been a long time since he’s bickered with someone so freely, and so instantaneously.

“Well, I’ll have you know that-”

_“Highness!”_

Both of them swivel round to face the direction of the newcomer. Instantly, Noct recognises the voice as his adviser’s - so the heavy footfall accompanying it must be his Shield’s.

“Ignis! Gladio!” he yells, and their reciprocating calls reassure him that they’re _finally_ on their way.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Prompto sighs, rising to his feet and lifting his hood back up. A surge of panic rushes through Noct at the sight.

“Wait,” he stammers, “you’re going? But - I haven’t even rewarded you-“

“You’re safe. I think that’s a good enough reward for me,” Prompto shrugs, strapping the bow at his back. “Besides, your guards are here. I should be going.”

“Wait, Prompto-!”

“I might see you again, sometime. But for now,” Prompto flashes a dazzling smile, and sweeps into a bow, “it’s goodbye, Your Highness.”

Before Noct can get another word in, he’s gone, leaving behind only a flutter of leaves and a strange ache in his heart.

“Highness, are you alright?”

There’s a patter of footsteps, and suddenly Ignis has replaced the recently vacated spot. There’s more crease lines running across his forehead than there had been in the morning, and Noct feels a trickle of guilt.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “And it’s only us, here. No ‘Highness’.”

Ignis’ expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but his shoulders relax a little. He gets up to survey the surroundings, regarding the bodies with disdain.

“What happened here?” he asks, gesturing at the bodies.

“There…” Noct licks his lips to try and pump some more moisture into them, “Bandits. They cornered me,” he admits ruefully, “but an archer took care of them. His name was Prompto.”

“Prompto?” Ignis enunciates the foreign name slowly, rolling it around his tongue, and Noct nods. Ignis furrows his brows and purses his lips, which translates from Ignis-speak to _I-don’t-know-this-man-but-I-will-hunt-him-down-in-the-castle-archives-before-you-can-say-’soup-ladle’._

“He helped me, but ran off when he heard you two get here,” Noct sighs, carding his fingers through his matted hair. “I didn’t get the chance to thank him properly, either...”

“We will find him for you,” Ignis reassures, before adding in an undertone, "after we verify his intentions."

"Ignis!" Noct scolds. "He _helped_ me."

"Apologies, Noct, but this man is a complete stranger. He may not harbour the same goodwill towards you the next time you cross paths as he did this time."

"Yeah, but there won't _be_ a next time." Gladio interjects, sheathing his massive weapon. He gives Noct a friendly knock on the shoulder and catches him in a headlock, which is the only indication he gives that he was worried about the prince. "Next time we hunt, we'll be keeping you on a leash. I turn my back on you for a _second_ , and this is what happens-"

"Hey!" Noct grumbles. "You had the map, not me."

"Yeah, I did. And?"

"And that means you knew where you were going, whereas _I_ had to figure it out for _myself-"_

"Gentlemen, please," Ignis sighs, as the pair launch into a squabble. They pay him no heed, as usual.

Once Ignis finishes clearing out the grounds, the three of them start to make their way back to the castle. Grudgingly, Noct realises that the Wasps will have to wait for another day - and he _really_ doesn’t want to listen to another one of his father’s impossibly long lectures again. He knows that he has no choice in the matter, though; Ignis has a duty to report to the King, which means that he’ll be stuck sitting in the dining room for hours on end today, whether he likes it or not.

He’s just about to finish up, sheathing his sword, when he remembers the little bell on the floor. Frowning, Noct searches the ground, breathing in relief once he locates it. He quietly pockets the instrument, when he’s sure that the other’s aren’t looking.

He’s not sure why, but it seems too significant to keep lying around.

 

 

 

 

“I have been hearing stories about you as of late, my son,” Regis sighs from his seat at the table. Noct tries not to shrink into his chair at the other end of the table, because his father is using the Fatherly Frown of Disapproval again.

“What stories?” he opts to ask, carefully adopting a neutral expression and lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Ignis tells me that you were lost in the woods this morning, and were subsequently caught by bandits.”

“Mhm. The bandits were taken care of, and I’m fine.” Is that _celery_ on his fork? Noct grimaces, and inconspicuously pushes the offending object off the edge of his plate.

“Taken care of by who?" Regis presses.

"An archer I met on the road," Noct answers, spearing the last piece of celery and dropping it off his plate with a _plop._ There - now these legumes won't be terrorising him anymore.

“Noctis," Regis begins ( _oh no,_ Noct thinks, with despair) _,_ "you _know_ that your actions were foolish. What if, instead of a benevolent young man leaping to your aid, you were instead accosted by a far more wicked person, masquerading as a saviour - only to take advantage of your weakened state at the very last moment? Your retainers are there with you for a reason: you must never leave them, even for the most mundane of tasks. I understand that you desired to ease the burden of the Hunt on all three of you, but that gave you no excuse to…”

In the corner of the room, he swears he can see Ignis smiling. Noct shoots him the dirtiest glare he's ever given, yet Ignis remains unruffled. His chamberlain only quirks one eyebrow - but the subtle tilt of his lips speaks volumes.

Bastard.

“... of course, this is taking into account the possibility that this archer of yours was, indeed, a benevolent young man. However, we still have not performed the necessary background checks, meaning that there is every possibility that he may be of much more malevolent disposition than we may think. Of course, I know how you are: if he is to your liking, you will no doubt leap to his defence, but you must always stay vigilant, and consider every outcome…”

 _Help me,_ Noct pleads to no one in particular.

Nothing happens, meaning that the Astrals are probably off partying in the heavens again.

Bastards.

 

 

 

“He went on for _hours!_ ” Noct accuses, as soon as he manages to escape the dining hall.

“Consider it an incentive to stay as one group the next time we travel out, instead of charging off on your own.” Ignis replies, adjusting his glasses. He can’t keep the smugness out of his tone, though - not even when Noct glowers at him.

 

* * *

 

“Gladio,” Noct yells, as he slams his sword into another tapered stinger, “why is Ignis crawling on the floor?”

“You think he’s confused? Looks like one of these bastards got to him - _argh,_ Iggy, watch where you’re throwing that thing!”

As Gladio howls in pain, one of Ignis’ daggers having skimmed his shoulder, Noct takes the time to reflect on how they _really_ should’ve brought smelling salts.

Not to mention that the Wasps’ nest was far larger and more feisty than they had anticipated. Noct’s lost track of how many stingers have narrowly avoided marring his face, and right now, even Gladio’s famous battle grunts are being drowned out by the most horrendous buzzing noises he’s ever heard.

He really hopes that the villagers understand how much wasp goo he’s had to sludge through after this, and gives them a free ticket into their private baths for a nice, long soak.

Or maybe that was asking too much.

Noct doesn’t know, but he _really_ wants to get this over and done with.

“Are you sure we - _move it, you_ \- are you sure we don’t have any smelling salts left?” he cries urgently over the din.

“Didn’t have any the last time I checked,” Gladio says, grim. He swings his greatsword down, and effectively cleaves the nearest Wasp in two.

 _Good riddance,_ Noct thinks sourly, before doing the same on his end.

“So you’re saying that we have to kill all of these,” he gestures widely to the crowd of angry insects, “as well as avoid hitting Ignis for Shiva knows how long?”

He points to where his adviser is repeatedly ramming himself into a tree.

“Well, yeah. Unless you have a better plan?” Gladio punctuates his words with a sharp slice through squelching flesh, before barking a “Duck!” at Noct.

Noct stands there for a second, before jumping to his senses and flinging himself to the floor, right as Gladio’s greatsword whistles through the air and implants itself to the hilt in another Wasp.

“Gladio, a little _warning_ next time?” Noct gasps, as he scrabbles uselessly for a purchase on the soil.

“I told you to duck - isn’t that a warning?”

This is humiliating. Everything would’ve been fine if it were Noct, Ignis and Gladio against a couple of Killer Wasps, but instead it’s Noct and Gladio against a rampaging Ignis and a swarming horde of Killer Wasps.

All things considered, Noct fears a confused, rampaging Ignis far more than he’ll ever fear a pack of deadly arthropods.

“Ignis! Look - _stop that right now_ \- look at me! Do I look like an _insect_ to you?” he shouts, exasperated, as Ignis misses his face by inches.

Damn the armoury and their peerless weapons handling, and damn the razor-sharp daggers Noct had gotten Ignis for his birthday -

His internal cursing is cut short when a figure barrels into Ignis, and sends him sprawling to the ground. The figure plunges his hand deep into his pocket, and presses the pouch he produces into his adviser’s nose.

“Hey!” Noct demands angrily, once he’s gotten over the initial shock of the newcomer. He strides forward, and makes to yank the attacker backwards. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Surprisingly, the attacker springs to his feet near immediately, leaving a groggy Ignis in his wake.

“... Noct?” Ignis groans, rubbing at his eyes with the dexterity of a custard. “What’s... going on?”

Noct had been staring at the hooded figure, but at Ignis’ words he quickly snaps back into action. “Ignis! You’re back! Sorry, you got confused.”

“Confused...?”

“Don’t worry,” the stranger speaks, and Noct’s heart leaps at the familiar sound. “I gave him some smelling salts.”

“It’s you!” Noct smiles, as Prompto flicks off his hood with a flourish.

“Yep! Hello again, Your Highness,” Prompto grins. “Need a hand?”

“I wouldn’t mind, no.”

Together, the three of them make quick work of the remaining beasts. Having Prompto around helps immensely, especially when the Wasps get the bright idea to fly high into the sky where neither Gladio nor Noct can reach. Prompto lays only a finger on the bowstring, before they’ve dropped to the floor in agonising screeches, and Noct has to forcibly stop himself from watching in awe.

Ignis, with a disgruntled, “apologies, Noct,” re-enters the fray after a few minutes. The battle continues only for a little while, and then Noct _finally_ feels the triumphant taste of victory as Gladio decapitates the last Wasp.

“That was a better fight.” he beams. Gladio nods in agreement, and Ignis gives a noncommittal nod from where he’s cleaning his knives. Noct swivels around to properly thank Prompto for the second time; if this was going to become a regular habit, he wouldn’t be averse to it at all -

Prompto’s gone.

“Prompto?”

Nothing. Just the flutter of leaves - _again._

“Damnit!” he curses wildly. “Why won’t you let me _thank_ you?”

“Language, Noct,” Ignis says, amused. Why, Noct will never know. How can he find this entire situation _amusing?_ “It seems as if our guest is particularly shy.”

“Shy? What do you mean, _shy?”_ Noct fumes, pacing the forest like an executioner on hanging duty. “He’s not shy! He was perfectly fine when he was talking to me!”

“There ya go, then. He’s scared of us, but we just happen to be doing our job. Don’t think we haven’t noticed those puppy looks you’ve been mooning about with the entire battle, either.” Gladio grins when Noct directs an angry glare his way.

“I just want to thank him. Once. Is that too much to ask?”

“It seems so,” Ignis consoles. “He’s admirably fast, that’s for certain.”

Gladio breaks out into uncontrollable guffaws, and Noct wants to scream at the trees.

 

* * *

 

It’s a couple of days after the Wasp Incident, as Noct’s dubbed it, when he decides to ask his father out on an outing.

“Father, I was wondering if you had some time to spare,” Noct begins, clasping his hands behind his back somewhat nervously.

He’s awake early for once, which is rather uncharacteristic for him - and this shows when the nobles start at the sight of him traipsing around the throne room before noon. Even Ignis had looked mildly surprised.

Regis shuffles some parchment, before setting down his quill. “Certainly, Noctis. What did you have in mind?”

Noct hates how they have to conduct themselves so _formally_ in front of the court, but he supposes that there’s nothing to be done about that.

“I was thinking we could both take some time to relax this evening. Would you be able to join me for a fishing excursion?”

Regis regards him with a slight frown, and Noct can feel his heart dropping. He trains his eyes on the floor.

_Ah. Just like always, then._

He’s just about to apologise and take his leave, when a light chuckle draws him out of his blossoming misery. Startled, Noct glances up, only to find his father smiling at him.

“If you think that I could say no to such a forlorn face,” Regis laughs, and Noct feels a grin forming, “then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“What about your meeting?” he dares to ask, unable to keep the tremor of hope out of his tone.

“Consider it… rescheduled.” Regis winks, and now Noct is sure he’s positively beaming.

“ _Hell_ yes!” he cheers.

“ _Highness!_ ” an anguished cry comes from the door.

“Oh, sorry.”

“I feel that Ignis will soon grow even more grey hairs than me.” Regis muses, as they make their way down the winding stone steps and into the castle grounds. Noct only laughs, and lays a hand at his father’s back to support him along the way.

 

   
  
  
“Bit more to the left.”

“Like this?”

“Wait, tilt your wrist a bit more - no, not _that_ much - there!”

The pair of them are lounging comfortably at the edge of the castle lake. Noct’s lent his own rod to his father, who fiddling with the reel as he tries to cast the lure far enough out into the water. The ripples fan out from where it lands, like how miniature dunes gently slope in the desert, disturbing the otherwise clear, calm water. From where he’s sitting, Noct can spot the vibrant birds littering the numerous apple trees, carving a picture out of a children’s book.

He hasn’t felt this unburdened in a long time.

“So,” his father begins, conversationally, “I’ve been hearing more stories about you, Noctis.”

Noct scoffs. “Like what? Me being cornered again?”

Regis gives him a stern look. “And have you?”

“‘Course not.” Noct lies swiftly, popping a piece of Ignis’ tart into his mouth. _Smooth, Caelum, smooth._

“Hm. If you insist. I have also been hearing more about you and this young archer of yours.”

 _Gods, this tart is great. Better tell Iggy._ “Yeah? What about him?”

“Well, the other day, Gladiolus very kindly offered to regale me with a colourful account of how smitten you seemed to be with him-”

Noct spews the entire tart out of his mouth, and ends up spraying the front of his tunic.

_What?_

“What - what do you-“ he splutters, coughing up the berry that had gotten lodged in his throat, “ - what do you mean, _smitten?_ I’m not - I’m not _smitten_ -“

“Hm, perhaps not what they call ‘love at first sight’,” Regis muses, innocently enough, as Noct continues to cough his lungs up, “rather, he described it as ‘lust at first sight’, although I am sure that can be easily rectified-”

“I’m not - Father! I’m not _lusting_ after Prompto!” Noct nearly screeches, leaping frantically to his feet, even as images of mussed golden hair, twinkling eyes and a jawline that could cut his face if he even so much as _caressed_ it spring to mind-

“Prompto? You know his name?” Regis’ mouth is twitching, Noct notices furiously.

“Yes! Because he _told me!”_

“Given that you only met the boy twice, and both of them were when you were in great difficulty-”

“Father, stop,” Noct pleads, adopting his best _poor-adorable-son-you-can’t-say-no-to_ expression. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Regis nods, solemnly, and Noct wants to groan. “We have already conducted numerous background checks on this Prompto of yours, and apart from being strangely secluded, he seems to be of a reasonable calibre. Besides, you have long yearned for a friend outside the castle grounds. So, as long as you keep Gladio and Ignis about your person at all times, I am not averse in allowing you to meet with this boy. I must insist, however, that you exercise caution at all times - and that you bring him along to the palace in the near future, since I would be absolutely delighted to meet the man who managed to steal my dear boy’s heart-”

“He hasn’t stolen anything!” Noct yells, and the pure, panicked force of it sends his father into a fit of very un-Kingly giggles.

Noct turns away, and stomps back to the castle.

“Noctis - Noctis, I am sorry, I was merely jesting-” Regis calls after him, but his voice is muffled and shaky with laughter, so Noct chooses to ignore it.

He also decides that he can do perfectly fine without a Shield.

 

 

 

 

Gladio’s on guard duty outside Noct’s room, when he finds the piece of parchment pinned to the wall.

 

_Gladiolus, the most annoying Shield I have ever had the misfortune to encounter,_

STOP EMBARRASSING ME.

_-N_

 

The signature is punctuated with angry red blotches of ink, and Gladio has to fight incredibly hard to stifle his laughter.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Noct wonders where Prompto’s home is; or whether he has a family; or whether he’s taken it upon himself to protect travellers from the dangers of the road. The last thought makes him frown a little, because really, it should be the Crown’s duty to protect the people, but… well. It seems like the Crown have got their work cut out for them.

He also wonders whether Prompto thinks about him as much as he thinks about Prompto, or if he’s just getting really creepy.

“Highness!” Ignis scolds, cross, and smacks Noct upside his head with a heavy book.

“Ow, Iggy,” Noct yelps, springing up, “watch it!”

“Perhaps I will, when you focus properly.”

Noct returns his forehead to its rightful place on the desk. “Ignis. When will I _ever_ need to know - “ he squints sideways at the cursive, sloping letters, “the uses of minerals and metals-” he flips the book upside down, “in the _Circa Instans?_ ”

“Until you believe that your spellwork is impeccable,” Ignis chides, and Noct cringes bodily at the reminder, “you will continue studying it.”

“It’s not exactly… the most _interesting_ thing in the world, though.” Noct mutters, half-heartedly. “I could be doing _anything,_ Iggy. _Anything._ Instead, I’m learning about base elements in the concoction of Firaga. I can’t even conjure ordinary _Fire.”_

His voice comes out more dejected than he had intended it to be, but it’s true. They’ve been going at this for _hours,_ yet Noct is pretty sure that he still won’t be able to flicker flames across his palm with perfect grace like he’s seen his father do so many times before.

Everything that’s supposed to happen, happens. His eyes fade to a striking pink, he loses focus on his surroundings, and he feels the magic channelling through his veins… yet, Noct either manages nothing, or he manages to set an entire field on fire.

It’s disheartening, knowing that half the Glaives can perform better magic than he can.

“You only need practice,” his adviser reassures, comforting. “And patience, which you seem to lack.”

“... I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” Noct frowns, knitting his brows together, but the heavy weight on his chest does ease up a bit. “Anyway. Did you hear anything about Prompto?”

He tries to look as indifferent as possible, adopting an _oh, I just felt like asking for him_ expression.

Ignis arches an eyebrow, seeing right through Noct’s poorly veiled curiosity. Damn.

“Are you interested in him?”

“No!” Noct says, a little too loudly. “No. I just wanted to see if you got anything on him, is all. He’s a bit of a mystery, y’know? And I still want to thank him.”

“... I see.”

Ignis’ tone conveys that, yes, he does see very well. He probably knows exactly what Noct’s up to.

Noct thinks, for possibly the thousandth time in his life, that the Astrals made Ignis Scientia far too intelligent for his own good.

He swallows.

“Well,” his adviser continues, “I have nothing. The records were checked by His Majesty himself, and he deemed it unneccessary for me to check into it any further.”

Noct feels his heart plummet right into the soles of his boots.

“What - are you _sure?”_ he mumbles.

Ignis lifts his quill and dips it into the vat of ink leaning against his elbow. “Of course, I checked the records myself anyway - but I, too, found nothing. He seems harmless… for now.”

Harmless. It’s the best word that they could use to describe his new… friend, but when Noct hears it now, he feels as if he’s clutching at straws, like a drowning man in turbulent waters.

“Harmless,” he sighs. “Right.”

Ignis gives him an unreadable, appraising look.

“I also overheard the maids chatter about him, once the news had spread that you had found yourself a new companion,” he says mildly, and Noct can feel his heart leap into his throat again, “but, since I don’t care much for gossip, I declined to listen to the rest of the conversation.”

“Which maid, Ignis?” Noct asks urgently, not caring that he looks very desperate right now. “Which one?”

He almost knocks over his stool in his haste to make for the door, before he’s abruptly halted by a firm tug at his sleeve.

Ignis is giving him a cold, hard stare -  one that screams murderous intent, and it quickly sends bitter prickles down his spine, such that Noct automatically feels the urge to shiver.

“You will sit,” Ignis says icily, “and you will finish your paper, before you decide to go anywhere.”

Noct sits so fast he gives himself whiplash.

  
  


Noct’s been tapping his foot impatiently against the stone floor for _eons_ before the maid shows up. She’s exactly as Ignis described: long white gown, yellowed apron and wispy hair tucked neatly away underneath a wimple - in short, everything a typical castle maid would look like.

She also has a rather impressive burn colouring the left side of her face, matching Ignis’ further description to the bone.

“Good evening,” Noct nods as she passes by, and has to stifle his laughter when the maid nearly trips over her skirts to duck into a frantic curtsy.

“Your Highness!” she stammers, before composing herself. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Metella, was it?” For a moment, Noct thinks that he’s gotten the name wrong, so he’s pleased when she nods in affirmation. “Ah, I had been told that you know some information about my new-“ _friend? Comrade? Archer that happened to rescue him on a near weekly basis?_ “companion. I had thought, perhaps, that you would share some of those tales with me.”

“Companion? Are you speaking of the ranger, milord? Prompto Argentum?”

 _Argentum, huh?_ Prompto Argentum. The name flows nicely, like silver coins running falling through his fingers.

“Yes, yes. Please sit, and tell me all you know.” Noct motions to the stone protruding structure beside him, and Metella sits, her eyes flitting about to focus everywhere but on Noct.

 _It’s your naturally terrifying demeanour,_ the Ravus-voice informs him smugly, and Noct bats it away with a blink.

“It’s - I don’t know much, Your Highness,” she says, wringing her hands nervously. The skin of her palms is glinting with a dull sheen. “Merely, that he protects travellers on the road, and that he’s mighty skilled with a bow and arrow, and he lives in a hut over those hills. Oh, and -  well now, this one just sounds silly…”

“And?” Noct probes, dropping the royal mask with a hint of urgency..

“I - I only heard it from the barracks, milord, but…” Metella sighs, before lifting her head and looking Noct straight in the eye.

“Highness, they say he looks after dragons.”

Noct nods along out of instinct, before jolting with a frantic start.

Dragons.

_...What?_

“Dragons.” Noct echoes, flat and disbelieving. “You’re saying that he keeps… dragons.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she mumbles, feebly. “It sounds silly, I know.”

Noct opens his mouth, and then closes it again, like the fish on the end of his chocobo lures. He swipes a thumb over the bell in his pocket, back and forth, as he tries to process this newfound information.

“I -” he starts, before stopping.

Metella looks at him, resignation clear in her eyes. Noct sighs, and runs a hand through his already messy hair.

"Thank you for your time," he says, finally. "You are dismissed."

As the maid hurries away, laundry basket obscuring her petite form, Noct presses a hand to eyes, and wonders what the hell is going on.

  


 

As the light of the dusk filters gently through the open window, Noct flops into the seat opposite Ignis. The adviser's scratching away at some official records, barely visible behind the towering stack of books.

"She said that Prompto hoards _dragons,_ " Noct moans, tipping his head on the back of the chair, so that he's splayed out like a starfish.

The only indication Ignis gives that he's listening is the tiniest of smirks spreading across his face.

“Stop that,” Noct accuses.

“I did nothing,” Ignis says, innocently enough.

Noct gives him another suspicious half-glare, before resting his head on the oaken table again.

"I just want to thank him, but now he apparently has dragons," he laments, mournfully. " _Dragons,_ Iggy. Even though dragon-keeping happens to be _illegal in Lucis_."

"Remember, Noct, it is only gossip." Ignis says, which perks Noct's spirits a little.

Until he puts the quill down, steeples his fingers under his chin, and gives him the Ignis Look.

"You are aware that you're not to go into the woods again without both my and Gladio's accompaniment, yes?" Ignis warns, sharp green eyes cutting into Noct like the scalpel of a barber surgeon.

Noct tries to stare back with the equally unforgiving _I-Am-Your-Prince_ smoulder, but he doesn't think he's quite gotten it down yet, because Ignis doesn't even flinch.

“... Fine.” Noct grumbles, and Ignis returns to his paperwork.

 

* * *

 

“Ha! Take  _that,_ Iggy!” Noct stage-whispers, voice carrying into the wind as he walks into the woods, alone. He punches the air, then immediately checks around him to see if an angry Ignis will materialise beside him, anyway. When nothing happens, Noct grins widely.

The sun has all but sunk into the sea of clouds, leaving behind an inescapable chill in the air. Noct shivers without conscious volition - he’s used to the warmth and comfort that both the palace and the sun offer him, and it’s not often that Lucis suffers from cold weather.

There’s even thick, grey fog blanketing the forest floor, swirling around Noct’s boots and making its way up his calves in slow, lazy tendrils. It makes for a pretty scene; the mist dissipates in whirlpools as he starts to walk, before returning to their original places.

The forest is still and silent. Waiting - almost as if it’s holding its breath. It’s such a vast contrast from the forest of a month ago, with its dappled sunlight weaving effortlessly through the branches. Noct almost feels _afraid_ to touch anything - it feels like if he does, they’ll shatter and spill, like water in a porcelain chalice.

He’s about to take another step, when he notices something move ever so slightly on his far right.

Noct tilts his head a minute angle, and watches as the beech tree rustles faintly. Its roots are much thicker than the rest. Through this fog, the leaves look pallid and washed out.

As soon as he swivels on the spot to face it directly, the tree stops moving.

Noct clears his throat, and places a hand on his hip.

“My father,” he begins, trying to appear cool and collected, “has extended to you a formal invitation to visit the palace.”

The leaves immediately stop swaying the moment the words leave his lips, but the shadow behind the trunk doesn't move an inch. Noct folds his arms.

“You can come out now, you know.”

There’s no response. Noct huffs an exasperated sigh.

“Fine. Can you at least tell me why you’re following me?” Noct figures that he needs to try a different tactic, otherwise the boy would stay hidden for all eternity.

Nothing. The only sound he can hear is the steadily increasing drumbeat of his own heart in his ears.

_Is he really not here..?_

Noct’s about to advance, when -

“Hello, Prince Noctis. Alone again? After the last time?"

\- a shaded silhouette slinks out from the birch’s shadow, before leaning against the trunk.

The voice is light, lilting through the breeze - and also instantly recognisable. There’s only one voice that sounds so much like honey that Noct thinks he could dip his hands in it, and watch as it comes out dripping with the stuff.

“I’m not alone anymore,” Noct smiles, giving Prompto a little wave, before remembering what he’s really here for.

He adjusts his body language so that he looks righteously annoyed. “Why is it that you vanish into thin air whenever I try to talk to you?” he accuses, raising an eyebrow.

Prompto rises to the challenge admirably. “Didn’t want to take up too much of your time, Highness,” he says, and Noct can practically see the grin forming under that concealing hood.

“You’re not - you’re not wasting my time,” Noct huffs, exasperated. “You saved me, and you won’t even accept my gratitude?”

“I already told you, didn’t I? You came out of there safe and sound - that’s reward enough for me.”

The blunt statement, delivered so matter-of-factly, causes things to dissolve into mush in Noct’s brain for a good few seconds. It takes a good deal of internal scrambling around before he can think without feeling utterly blindsided again.

Whatever Prompto’s doing - _does he even know what he’s doing? -_ is unfair. It is completely, undoubtedly, and irrevocably unfair.

Noct quickly fixes his features into the suave mask of a prince, absolutely brimming with charm. “Alright. If you’re _still_ avoiding my question…” -  should he flutter his eyelashes? _(on second thoughts, maybe not…)_ \-  “maybe you can tell me why you happen to be conveniently nearby whenever I find myself in trouble?”

“Why, it’s my godly levels of intuition, of course!” And Prompto has the nerve to shoot him a _thumbs-up._

Noct stares at him, unsatisfied, before barking out empty laughter. He turns on his heel, and makes as if he’s leaving. “If you’re not willing to answer, you can just say so, and I’ll leave.“

“No! Wait, I-“

Abruptly, Prompto’s voice changes. It’s markedly different, having gone up notches in pitch, and for the first time Noct thinks he can detect something else other than pure, unadulterated confidence in it. Underneath all those debonair layers, he thinks he can see a small patch of… panic?

Noct halts his tracks, and Prompto inhales swiftly.

“Okay. The reason I followed you was because… I believed you might have something I’ve lost.”

Prompto scratches the back of his head, and looks away bashfully. Noct would’ve thought it was endearing, if he wasn’t absolutely befuddled.

“Me? What would I have?”

“Have you - when you came down this road…” Prompto worries his lip - _since when did people have lips so smooth?_ \- “...did you see a little silver bell, by any chance?”

Little silver bell?

Noct casts his mind back into the not-so-distant past. He scrunches his eyes as he tries to recollect anything that might fit Prompto’s description, but there’s nothing - he’s always been much more fond of the harp, himself. Unless…

_Ah._

There’s only one object that could possibly match Prompto’s request. Noct digs into his pocket, scrabbling around as Prompto watches on hopefully - until his fingers brush against sleek metal.

“This?”

Prompto beams.

 _P._ _A._ Prompto Argentum. How did he _not_ notice?

“Yes! Ah, Prince Noctis, thanks for holding on to it! I’ve been looking for that for _ages,_ believe me.“

Prompto draws his hood back fully now, and flashes a smile at Noct.

This one isn’t like his previous ones, though. Rather than being charming and coy, Prompto’s smile seems more… genuine. As if he’s channelling the rays of the sun, unbridled and at full power, through this one smile.

 _Gods,_ Noct thinks desperately. _Why am I waxing poetic about him?_

Masking his inner turmoils, Noct adopts a smooth expression instead, and asks, “Why would you want this, though? It doesn’t make a sound, no matter how hard I shake it.”

Prompto laughs, and it sounds like the pure embodiment of radiance. _Gods._ “What if I told you it was a secret?”

“Very funny,” Noct grumbles. He tosses the bell to Prompto, who catches it effortlessly with an expert flick of his wrist. “There. You've got it back. Now will you tell me why it doesn't ring?"

“So many questions!” Prompto, _damn him,_ has the audacity to wink. “Let a man keep some things to himself, you know?”

Noct then realises that Prompto is dodging his questions, like how he dodges his carrots. He grinds his teeth together.

“I’ve got so many questions because I know next to nothing about you!” he explodes, gesticulating at the floor as if it could effectively express the depth of his frustration. “You still won’t let me thank you properly! Even when you’ve done nothing wrong, you keep running away from me! It’s gotten to the point where a castle maid told me you keep _dragons!_ As if there were any more dragons _left_ in Lucis after everything that happened-“

“Wyverns.” Prompto interrupts. “They’re wyverns.”

Noct rakes a hand through his hair. It’s messy now, he knows, but that’s the last of his worries. He bites back a growl. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” Prompto cries, indignant. The sheer indignance of it takes Noct by surprise. “Wyverns have two legs, whereas dragons have only four - besides, wyverns can’t breathe fire like dragons used to do, _and_ their tails are long and barbed.”

Prompto’s dewy cheeks are tinted a flushed crimson, and his wildly parted lips are panting with the exertion of his little tirade. The confident façade has melted clean away, like candle wax over a gentle flame, and Noct feels a little guilty for working Prompto up so much. It's a whole new side to the blonde that he's never seen before.

Noct channels most of his willpower into not gazing into those violet depths again, choosing instead to try and steer the situation back into calmer waters.

“You… know a lot about dragons, don’t you?” he asks, slowly.

“ _They’re wyverns!_ ”

Noct can’t stop the annoyed sigh from escaping him this time, because they’re getting nowhere. “Why are you getting so angry about it?”

The archer crosses his arms, and directs Noct a decidedly annoyed expression.

“I - I can’t believe this,” Noct splutters, all the while thinking _this is not going how it’s supposed to, why are you goading him -_ “You can go off down a spiel about mythical beasts, of all things, but the moment I ask you about a _musical instrument-_ “

“I think I’m allowed to keep a few things to myself.” Prompto retorts, his mouth settling into a grim line.

“And if the Crown asked you?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, Noct’s wincing at how awfully worded it is. Even to him, the question seems accusing and demanding, and the perfect catalyst to drive Prompto away. It’s exactly the opposite of what he wants, and he silently hopes Prompto decides to ignore the bait.

What happens is exactly the opposite.

“...I think it’d be better if I took my leave, Your Highness,” Prompto says, quiet. He takes a step forward, before settling directly next to Noct. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, unmoving. “I’ll escort you to the end of the forest.”

Desperately, Noct tries to mend what he’s already broken-

“You’re not answering _anything,_ Prompto-!”

-and ends up breaking it even more.

Damnit. If this were a fairytale, or a story, this sorry scene would be illustrated by a sad painting of a splitting crack in a sad heart, gaping wider and wider.

Prompto ignores him, and strides forward with purposeful, assured steps. The bell is still clutched in his right hand, the string of it dangling limp and trailing along the floor.

Noct shakes himself out of his spiral of self-pity, and hastens to follow.

 

 

 

 

They reach the edge of the woods far quicker than Noct’s ever managed on his own, or with his retainers. Of course, it’s all thanks to Prompto.

The man who hasn’t spoken a word to Noct after their little… disagreement.

“Thank you,“ Noct starts, grudgingly, with all the intent to apologise for his poorly chosen words, but there’s only a sharp flourish of green cloak before Prompto disappears into the foliage.

In an instant, the vestiges of his apology has dissipated off the tip of his tongue, replaced with the stark beginnings of a curse.

 _Fine,_ Noct seethes, turning on his heel to march back to the castle. _You’re going to ignore me, Prompto? Fine. I don’t care._

 

* * *

 

When everyone else in the castle has fallen asleep, Noct is instead shifting restlessly under the blanket, which suddenly feels ten times heavier than it usually does.

The light of the moon shimmers as it falls between the covers, bathing them with a soft silvery sheen. Usually, Noct enjoys watching the moon before he drifts into slumber. Tonight, he finds it difficult to concentrate on on _anything._

He plucks at the wool, rubbing the threads between forefinger and thumb.

_Stupid, idiotic, stubborn, foolish…_

Noct grits his teeth, running the foulest insults through his head like the spool of a fishing rod, before realising that he’s nearly pulling the thread bare from the cloth with the force of his furious tugging.

Letting go, he rolls over and props himself up on his elbows.

“I’ll show him.” Noct hisses, as he rearranges the pillows. “Stupid Prompto, and his-” he smooths the satin cover, “stupid blonde hair-” he squashes the sides together, engorging it to a plump volume, “and his stupid blue eyes-” he punches the pillow, watching the resultant dip in the middle, “and his stupid grin-”

Noct stares, panting and incensed, at his pillow. It’s plumper than it was before, but there are also bright yellow feathers drifting alarmingly at its sides.

 _Looks a bit like his godsawful chocobo hair, now,_ Noct thinks victoriously.

Hah. He’d show him.

Noct lets his head fall onto the pillow, and promptly falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Noct is poking at his porridge, scooping pudgy globules of it into the curve of his spoon before letting it drop with a sad _plop_ into the bowl again. The royal chefs had stirred fruit into it and dolloped the top with streaks of golden honey. When he brings the spoon to his mouth, Noct is hit with the scent of wild berries, and it instantaneously brings his blood to the boil.

He grips the spoon with renewed vigour.

Prompto's rejection has lately been a constant reminder in his head, pushing itself to the front of his mind and dictating any and every emotion he'd been feeling throughout the days. It’s annoying - no matter how hard he tries, Noct can’t stop thinking about that crooked grin, even though he desperately wants to. It’s not as if he’s going to see Prompto ever again, anyway - so why does his traitorous mind naturally drift to thoughts about the blond archer?

Noct squeezes his fist, and narrows his eyes.

The prince _knows_ that he’s not in the wrong. Not entirely, anyway.

Noct’s embarrassingly aware that he’d lost the composure required of the Crown Prince in front of Prompto that day. He also thinks that Prompto might have felt somewhat… backed into a corner, after his continuous questioning.

Underneath all his accusations, though, Noct is sure that he’d expressed his plain desire to simply _thank_ Prompto for his efforts. Hadn’t he asked him to come back to the castle? Hadn’t he smiled, laughed and _joked_ with him?

And yet, Prompto still refused to say a _thing-!_

_CRACK!_

A sharp stinging sensation crackles through his fingers, and Noct jumps a little in his plush seat. Looking down, he registers the new crack that’s split lengthways down the spoon.

“Noctis, do take care with the cutlery,” Regis says mildly from the other end of the dinner table. He pauses to sip from a hefty goblet.

Noct glares, sullen, as an off-white mass of oatmeal carves its path down his sleeve, and drips happily onto his thigh.

 _Astrals-damned archer._ He’d show him.

 

 

 

_Luna,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health._ _Things have been_ _I’ve been feeling much better than before - I even managed to catch a Dread Grouper the other day, like you believed I would! Of course, this_ _was ruined when I came across this obnoxious piece of_

 

Noct frowns down at his piece of parchment, his quill poised and motionless, ready to write. He’s crossed out so many words already that he wonders if he should just give up on this one and start a fresh letter.

“Having trouble?” Ignis asks smoothly, leaning forward to inspect the damage.

“Hey!” Noct yelps, snatching his letter and holding it above his head. “This is _private,_ Ignis. You can’t look.”

“Hm,” Ignis hums, fixing Noct with a flat look. “You’ve never been so skittish with your correspondence with Lady Lunafreya before. Are you sure you’re happy with me leaving your grammar mistakes in-”

“Yes, it’s _fine!_ ” Noct snaps, feeling the heat bloom under his cheeks.

Ignis gives him another lingering look, before crossing his legs.

“I was also informed that you went into the forest again. Alone.”

Noct physically feels it when his limbs freeze in motion. The weight of Ignis’ glare bores into him, like that time when he’d accidentally knocked a hole through the castle wall.

He clutches the letter in his right hand, nearly knocks the chair over in his haste to get up, and bolts out of the room.

  


 

That evening, Noct is left staring mournfully into his dinner bowl, as the musicians play deceptively upbeat tunes on their lutes and lyres in the background.

He’d asked for a generous helping of the Mother and Child bowl. What he gets looks more like a ‘mother carrot and baby carrot’ bowl, to him.

“I must say, this dish is absolutely divine!” Regis beams, from the other end of the table. “Ignis’ culinary talent is exceptional!”

With great reluctance, Noct lifts the spoon to his lips. He immediately shudders, and the unfairness of it all is cemented when Gladio starts snickering from his position by the door.

Noct swallows, and feels the wetness as it trickles from the corner of his eyes.

 

 

 

The next few days pass in a blur: of studying, training, diplomacy, court-keeping, thoughts of Prompto -

Noct grits his teeth, as he dodges another swing of the greatsword. It skims his belt, and he distinctly feels the air brush his skin.

_Not now!_

“Concentrate!” Gladio commands, as he leaps back and charges again. _He’s holding the thing like it weighs a feather,_ Noct thinks despairingly, as he rolls to the side in an effort to escape.

“I _am…_ concentrating!” he huffs, just as his Shield knocks him flat to the floor with one swift blow.

Damn.

Noct closes his eyes, and lets his face rest against the cool, hard stone. Gladio strides over and casually crouches next to his limp form, before giving his head a cheery knock, as if Noct’s suddenly turned into a door.

“So focused today!” Gladio grins. Noct barely has the energy to make a rude hand gesture at him from the floor, before he has to drop it.

“How princely, Your Highness,” Gladio snorts, before leaning back onto his ankles. “Anyway, I’m gonna head out to the apothecary. Gotta pick up some herbs for Iris.”

“You do that.” Noct says wearily, watching as his hot breath blows onto the stone and turns it a cool grey shade.

“Want me to pick up a love potion for you, too?” Gladio asks, gruff voice turned innocent.

Noct lies there, barely processing Gladio’s words, before he springs up with the energy his father has whilst consuming desserts.

“I am _not-”_ he splutters, but Gladio’s already guffawing into a gloved fist. “No, Gladio, _listen-”_

“Looks like I win another round.” Gladio grins.

“What do you mean - wait, I don’t even _like_ him-!”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep lying to yourself, Noct.”

“I’m telling the _truth-!”_

Noct coughs wildly as the words hurriedly tumble out, but Gladio pays him no mind, and instead gives him a sly wink and a jaunty little wave as he makes for the open door.

_Bastard._

 

 

 

Later, when he’s back in his bed, Noct comes to the realisation that his emotions are flip-flopping in ways unknown to mankind.

In the last week, he’s wanted to yell at Prompto, smile at him, argue with him, and hug him, too. Sometimes, he wants to do it all at once.

Noct rolls over and stuffs his face into his pillow. The musky scent of dried chocobo pervades his nose, and he growls frustratedly.

It had all seemed so easy at first. All he’d had to do was ignore Prompto; forget that he had ever existed, and move on with his life with no more interference from the blond archer.

Instead, Noct had found himself thinking about him at the most inopportune times, and it must have showed, because now everyone snickered at him whenever he walked past. For Six’s sake, even his _physician_ had given him a creepy wink!

Never mind the fact that Prompto still apparently has dragons. In Lucis. And he hadn’t confirmed nor denied it, which makes him all the more suspicious - and kind of alluring, even if Noct won’t admit it out loud.

“If someone could rescue me now, that’d be great.” Noct mumbles into his pillow.

Predictably, no one comes to save him, so he’s left to suffer alone in his vast bedroom, weighed down by blankets and embarrassment and complete, utter confusion.

Noct rolls over again and yanks the covers up to his hairline, as if they could shelter him from his intrusive thoughts. He forcibly clenches his eyes shut, and wills himself to drift off to sleep.

 

 

_Hi, Noct!_

 

He nearly stumbles forward and sprawls face first onto the musty earth, with how quickly he’s been dropped.

“What-?” Noct mumbles, blearily wiping at his eyes.  He shakes his head, and takes a look around.

He’s in Insomnia Central Square. The marketplace is uncannily busy for this time of night, and the fountain is still gushing water from its spout, like the waterfalls in Greyshire Grotto.

He’s in the middle of looking around dazedly, when he notices that the people are moving at a snail’s pace - almost if they’re drifting. There’s a midnight shimmer to the air, too - and when he squints, he sees that the fountain water doesn’t seem fully opaque at all.

Noct whirls around, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the pale, downy fox perched on the market stand, cocking its ears back and forth so that they flap lazily in the air. It’s exactly then that he registers that he’s holding a familiar, worn leather book between his fingers, open at a near-blank page.

He sighs in relief, as a massive grin breaks out across his face.

“Hey, Carbuncle,” he greets, reaching out to scratch his friend’s ear. “Here to take me on another adventure?”

Carbuncle does a little somersault in the air, before bounding forward and landing lightly on the ground. Noct follows suit, easing himself in a cross-legged position in front of the Astral, and watches as letters scrawl themselves along the parchment.

 

_Sorry, not today. :(_

 

Noct audibly snorts at the pitiful drawing of a sad stick man that crops up underneath the _‘Hi, Noct!’_ ; lines drawn fluidly, almost as if an invisible scribe was crafting them right at this very second.

“Aw, I’m disappointed.” he quips, although he’s anything but. Carbuncle must know, too, because the fox does another somersault in the air, and golden sparkles materialise over the top of its head.

 

_So._

 

_;)_

 

Noct looks down at the scribble of the vicar winking, with a frown.

 

_Who’s this Prompto you keep dreaming about. ;)_

 

“Oh, Astrals,” Noct groans, “not you, too! And wait, when did I dream about him?”

Carbuncle squeaks, and the page flips over of its own accord.

 

_It’s okay! You don’t remember most of your dreams. I remember them for you!_

 

“...That’s a bit scary, Carbuncle.” Noct admits, giving the creature another pat on the head. He fervently hopes that his friend changes the subject, soon, because this is getting close to uncomfortable territory.

 

_So, have you met with him again?_

 

 _Damn,_ Noct thinks feebly. He should’ve _known_ it would never work. It’s _Carbuncle._

He decides to play along with Carbuncle, if only to humour his longtime guardian. Of course, the things he says don’t necessarily have to be _true,_ do they?

“No,” Noct answers, slowly. And then, more firmly: “No. I don’t like him. At all. So there’s no reason to see him again.”

Carbuncle tips its head to the side, the ruby nestled in its forehead glinting unnervingly, and Noct gets the distinct feeling of being unwrapped - or skinned, like the unfortunate chickens they keep in the farms.

 

_That’s a lie, and you know it. >:( _

 

Wow. That is one horrific vicar. Noct doesn’t think he’s ever seen a facial expression as distorted as the one on the page before him.

“I really don’t like him, though.” he protests. He knows it comes out weak, and vaguely uncertain.

The page flips, and Carbuncle leaps into Noct’s lap, circling between his legs before curling up into a content, fleecy ball of fluff.

 

_Do you really think you don’t like him?_

 

Noct pauses in his petting.

 

_When you see him. Or think of him. Do you never want to see him again?_

 

Noct stays silent, although privately, his thoughts are hurtling faster than the chocobo races. He swallows, and hopes that it’s not too noticeable. Carbuncle noses his stationary hand, and rubs its soft fur against his thigh.

 

_It’s okay to talk about your feelings, you know. ♥_

 

“Okay, fine! No, I don’t hate him, and yes, I wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Noct finishes, the words falling from his lips in a tangle of stammers. He’s sure his face is hot to the touch, and Carbuncle lets loose another flurry of sparkles. “Only to thank him, though. Nothing else.”

 

_You did it, Noct! You finally accepted your true feelings. I’m proud of you!_

 

_But you know you want to be his friend, too. ;)_

 

“ _Carbuncle,”_ Noct groans, “please!”

Carbuncle only squeaks joyfully in his lap, before whisking him away to another land of dreams; where there’s moogles, and chocobos, and an abundance of laughter. For once, Noct doesn’t wake up perplexed.

This time, when he does wake, he decides that it’s finally time to do something about this whole mess.

 

 

 

“I’m going to find him.” Noct says aloud into the crisp morning breeze, jaw set and gazing out into the garden hedges.

Balthier looks at him, dubious, before running a paw over dusky felt fur.

“No, really, I’m going to find him,” Noct repeats, lifting the cat into the air so that he’s looking directly into clear green eyes. “How, though? Last time I went alone, Ignis had my hide…”

“Meow,” Balthier meows, unhelpfully.

“Maybe I could… ask Gladio to help me out? No, that wouldn't work..." the prince mutters. "Or I could set a sleep potion on him? He'd sniff it out in an instant, but..."

Balthier, having grown decidedly tired of Noct’s useless ramblings, wriggles and squirms out of his grip, and falls less than gracefully into the lush grass. He throws a haughty, unimpressed look at Noct, before sinking into the foliage and splaying out like a sluggish octopus.

Noct peers at the cat, who ignores him and shuts his eyes.

He gasps.

“I know _exactly_ what to do!”

 

* * *

 

“They all think I’m _asleep!_ ” Noct cackles, clapping his hands together under the weakening moonlight, as the rain continues to drench him in an unyielding downpour.

Getting out of the castle so late at night had been an absolute nightmare and a near catastrophe, especially considering the swathes of guards he’d had to duck his way around. But here he was, leaves sodden and trees bowing with the weight of the water around him - and he was _alone._

Hah. Iggy would be none the wiser.

Thunder booms ominously in the far distance, shaking Noct out of his momentary triumph, and urging him ever forward into the forest depths. With the lack of visibility, he could see absolutely nothing. It’s beginning to become irksome and tiring - but Noct’s sure that he’d take wet clothes and flattened hair over Ignis’ lectures any day.

He does make sure to stick to the middle of the path, though, after a white hot flash strikes an unfortunate tree and leaves it in flames, right next to where he’d just been huddling before.

That just about rattles the remnants of cockiness out of him.

“Hmm…” he mutters, shading his eyes against the multitude of water from above, as he tries to make out his surroundings. He’s unsuccessful, which leaves really only one thing for him to do - press onwards, and hope for the best.

He stops in his tracks, and it’s only then that he _really_ evaluates his position.

Suppose that Prompto never came. He’d be left out in unfamiliar territory, at night, in the middle of a thunderstorm, with no food or water on his person. Visibility is poor, and the last time he was alone, it had very nearly dissolved into a calamity of epic proportions.

Noct furrows his brows, and considers. It sounds pretty bad, even in his books.

So… suppose that Prompto never came? Would this really seem like a good idea come tomorrow morning?

 _No. This is fine,_ Noct immediately decides, dismissing the uneasy train of thought as a particularly strong gust of wind whips his hair back and forth. Besides; it’s not as if he’s weak. If worst comes to worst, he can handle himself - this much, he knows.

Clenching his jaw, Noct nods at the trees, and resumes his journey with renewed determination.

 

 

“Oh, woe to be me! A helpless, hapless prince, traversing the dark, scary woods all by himself! Whatever should I do? Won’t anyone save me? Aah! I’m _so_ scared!”

Noct’s mock-wails are apparently ineffective, because they don’t even draw out robbers, let alone blond archers with admirable hero complexes.

He stares blankly into the distance, hand still fake-clutching his heart in despair, before dropping the façade completely and stomping onwards.

“Prompto?” Noct calls instead this time, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Prompto! Come out! Uh, please?”

No Promptos come out. Noct starts to feel the first inches of frustration creep up on him, like a Yojimbo’s stealthy fingers - just as his foot catches on the hard edges of a jutting rock.

_Oh, for the love of-_

Noct swings an arm forward, desperately to catch on a ledge. Instead, he flails around with the velocity of a baby squid, which ultimately leads to him tipping forwards despite his best efforts, and then suddenly he’s slipping in that _damned mud -_

_Please don’t let it be a cliff please don’t let it be a cliff please don’t let it be a cliff oh Gods Iggy’s going to slaughter me like they do in those vivisections-_

Noct squeezes his eyes shut. Instinctively, he draws his knees together, and braces himself to twist into a roll the minute he hits solid ground.

It's a long minute before he realises that he's not hitting... anything.

_What?_

Noct cranks open an eye, wary. He glances down, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that he realises that he hasn’t hurtled through vast expanses of air and space.

The rain is still falling, though not as heavily as it was before. It’s enough for him to see the ripples they cause when they drop into the knee-deep water he’s currently wading through.

Noct stares down at the water, face impassive and unblinking, before he shrugs, noncommittal. He’d take wet boots over a cracked skull any day.

“Hey, Prompto!” he yells, loud and demanding, trudging through the waves. “It’d save me a _lot_ of trouble if you could come out right about now!”

No answer. Again. Noct growls, before clenching a fist and pushing forwards.

“I came to _apologise!_ I promise, it’s not like the last time-”

He gets approximately two thirds of the way through his sentence, before he bumps into something rough, scaly and decidedly _solid._

“ _Ouch -_ what-?”

Noct rubs his arms, and looks up to glare at the offending object.

His glare instantly switches to a look of terror, because - it’s not an object - and it’s probably the size of Mt. Ravatogh - and it’s got one _huge eye that’s wide open -_

The creature, a catoblepas _(thanks for the lessons, Iggy,_ he thinks dumbly) gives a low rumble that shakes the earth so violently that the strands of his own hair stand on end.

“Uh, hey, big guy,” Noct manages, taking a quivering step back, “didn’t expect to… see you here?”

It hadn’t meant to come out as a question, but the quivers vibrating through the back of his throat changes it into one, anyway. It’s as if his fear has become tangible, and seeps into the cadences of his voice so that it comes out high-pitched and _very_ un-Prince-like.

_This isn’t good._

The catoblepas surveys him with one glassy eye, and for a moment, Noct thinks he can quietly slip away if he’s careful enough. Except that, when he tries to do so, the beast lowers its colossal neck, and suddenly all Noct sees is a flash of an equally colossal tusk before he’s flung back into the lakewater.

Gods. The pain rips through his spine, reawakening old injuries that really should never be opened again.

The agony renders Noct absolutely useless. He writhes and thrashes and howls from his position on the bank, gasping and spluttering for air as he’s pulled underwater, while simultaneously suppressing the tears that form at the corner of his eyes - and the catoblepas advances, every thunderous step sounding a crackling _boom_ as it goes.

He’s not… He won’t die like this.

He doesn’t want to, but his back feels like it’s splitting apart at the seams.

He hears what sounds like a distinct _whoosh_ coming from his right , and Noct only has time to dazedly wonder what it could possibly be before the beast’s looming over him with one deadly foot; raised and ready to plough into his stomach -


	2. Life Goes On

_“Prince Noctis!”_

Just as Noct flinches to the side, he hears a clear, familiar _twanging_ sound, before the catoblepas is bellowing and screeching and rearing back, away from him.

_What…?_

Noct cranes his neck, and strains his eyes.

There’s an arrow, sharp and deadly, embedded in that ghastly eye. He traces the path the arrow must have taken back to its original owner, disbelief clouding his senses, because - it couldn’t possibly be-?

It is.

There’s Prompto, arrow nocked and hood down, his eyebrows uncharacteristically knitted in a curved line and his lips mouthing something Noct can’t hear. Noct tries, tries desperately to make out what the archer’s trying to convey to him, but finds that his eyes are becoming harder to pry apart, so they’re travelling down, down, down -

wait -

wings? -

and... _scales? -_

Prompto doesn’t have any feet planted into the earth. He’s hanging suspended in air - but he can’t do that, because he’s not a sorcerer - so what…?

“Prince Noctis!”

Suddenly Prompto’s crouching over him, worry lines creasing across his forehead. _That’s cute,_ Noct thinks distantly, before deciding that a nap sounds like a very good idea right about now. His back is throbbing incessantly, and anything, _anything_ to dull his senses would be greatly appreciated, and his eyes _really aren’t following his half-hearted orders_ because they’re slipping shut of their own accord -

“Hey, hang in there!” Prompto begs, cool fingers brushing along Noct’s neck and pressing insistently down into his skin.

 _That feels nice,_ Noct thinks, and he’s just about to give in to the darkness when there’s a burst of crystal shards shattering into his eyes, followed by a crashing, frigid wave that washes over his form and sinks into his skin.

It feels like icy water after a long summer day. It’s invigorating, refreshing, and does a very good job of numbing his pain.

It also makes Noct far more aware of his surroundings.

First, he sees Prompto. The blond archer is still feeling around his neck, a sliver of tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrates.

Second, he sees the catoblepas. The beast is still roaring in pure rage, swinging its neck back and forth with deadly accuracy, water frothing about at the juncture where its feet meet the lake.

And then, he sees -

No. That can’t be it.

“Come on, Your Highness. On your feet,” Prompto urges, curling his fingers at the base of Noct’s neck. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Noct allows himself to be lifted, with Prompto’s support, which is when he finally sees the cause of the catoblepas’ wrath.

It’s a dragon.

A dragon.

A real, live dragon; like the ones from the fairytales his father used to read to him when he was young, all those years ago.

The creature is about as long as his dinner table, with the height of three chocobos stacked on top of each other, all snapping teeth and gaping jaws. Noct watches, flabbergasted, as it rears back and flaps its scaly wings into a frenzy, producing gusty tornadoes that have no trouble flying right into the catoblepas’ wounded eye.

Ivory, sleek scales shimmer in the moonlight, as does the barbed tail that Noct remembers Prompto speaking of. If they weren’t in the middle of a life or death situation, Noct probably would’ve stopped to admire how pretty they are.

Evidently, Prompto seems to keep their circumstances in mind; because he delves feverishly into his pocket, before whipping out the bell in a flourish and ringing it in the blink of an eye.

There’s no sound again, like when Noct had tried to do the same thing. Noct’s beginning to wonder if Prompto’s made a mistake, but then the dragon - _wyvern -_ bounds over to the pair in one fluid motion, wings furrowed at its side, and leaving the catoblepas behind to rage in the waters.

 _Oh, Gods._ Through the rapidly-dissolving haze, Noct panics - because those eyes are slits, and they’re boring right through him.

“Quickly!”

Prompto lifts Noct swiftly to his feet. Noct staggers forward, just enough so that he brushes against the wyvern’s flank.

It feels wet, and slippery, and those scales are so shiny he thinks he might get blinded, and _oh Astrals he’s going to die isn’t he - he touched the thing he touched the THING -_

“Up you get,” Prompto commands. The wyvern directs one more searching look at Noct, before bending low to the ground, so that its forehead skims the soil.

“What am I supposed to do?” Noct croaks, staring transfixed at the creature.

“Right leg first, over her other side, then your left,” Prompto turns to jab a finger at the rampaging catoblepas behind them, “before he sees us again!”

He’s actually going to ride a wyvern. A beast which hasn’t been seen for _decades_ , and now he’s going to _ride the thing -_

Noct tenses, before throwing all logic out of the window and swinging his leg over.

The dampness soaks into his cloak, which he hurriedly flicks out of the way as Prompto climbs up in front of him. Noct adjusts his legs so that they’re not hindering the carefully folded wings, and the wyvern raises her long neck so that she’s poised and a hair’s breadth away from charging.

The catoblepas roars just as Prompto leans forward to soothe her, reminding them of their current predicament.

“Arms around my waist,” Prompto orders.

Noct complies, wrapping his forearms as far as they’ll go around the other man. He presses his forehead into the space between Prompto’s shoulder blades, steadying his rapid breathing just as the wings begin to bat as ferociously as they had been doing before.

 _This is fine,_ he thinks, before he registers that they're in midair, and leaving solid ground underneath them by the second.

“Hold on tight, Prince Noctis!” the blond shouts over the din, reaching forward to encouragingly pat the creature’s flank. Noct instinctively tightens his grip, and presses himself so close that he’s almost melding into Prompto. It’s a new feeling; one that makes his heart pulsate wildly, and the adrenaline from the rising altitude only heightens the sensation.

“I-It’s Noctis,” he manages to gasp into the shell of Prompto’s ear, as the latter tugs on one rein.  “Call me Noctis!”

Prompto throws him an incredulous look over one shoulder. “Really? At a time like this?”

“I’m trying to apologise!”

“You don’t have to-”

“Just let me!”

“I really don’t - fine! Just make sure you hold on, Pr- Noctis!”

Noct manages to smile triumphantly into the folds of Prompto’s hood, before the wyvern shoots _up_ with one powerful burst, carrying the two of them with her as they leave the berserking catoblepas to shriek into the wild.

  


 

 

Noct keeps his eyes firmly shut for most of their flight. His arms are steadily wrapped around Prompto, and occasionally he allows himself to inhale the sweet, earthy scent that clings to the archer. It’s calming, and it does wonders to soothe his frazzled nerves.

On the other hand, the nausea keeps creeping up on him in irksome, rolling waves. Keeping them constantly at bay is tiring, so Noct tries his best to focus on the multitude of new sensations he’s able to experience this high up in the clouds.

Such as the sharp sting of the icy night breeze blustering against his cheek, or the feeling of his clothes - royal-tailored cloak, tunic, trousers and all - flapping against his skin. Or the sound of the steady, rhythmic wingbeats on either side of him, coupled with the motion of gently dipping and lifting with each beat, that serves as consolation that they’re not going to drop out of the sky any time soon.

Silken strands of hair tickle into his nose as Noct twists his fingers deeper into Prompto’s shirt, eliciting an amused sound out of the other boy.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it, Pr - Noctis?” he feels, rather than hears, Prompto sigh.

“Mmph,” Noct mumbles, wincing as another wave of nausea rolls over him, bitter as burnt salt.

Prompto pauses, and then dissolves into a fit of giggles. “Your eyes aren’t even open, are they?”

Noct glares - or as much as he can glare, with his eyes still firmly closed. He knocks his forehead into the blonde tresses in front of him.

“Haha! You’ll get used to it in time. For now, though, you gotta swallow it down!”

 _I feel like death incarnate,_ Noct thinks, sullen. He doesn't voice this, though, because opening his mouth right now seems like the perfect recipe for throwing up into the back of Prompto's shirt.

Instead, he groans, tight-lipped, and buries his face even further into the base of Prompto's neck.

"Don't worry. I'll get you something for the sickness when we get there," Prompto says, voice soft. The gentle tone of it makes Noct's heart swell. "You can hold on as tightly as you like. I don't mind."

Huh.

Noct decides to take Prompto up on that offer, shuffling forward in between wingbeats until he’s able to clasp his own elbows from where they’re encompassing Prompto.

The comforting presence seems to work, because the nausea slowly dies down until it's only a trickle of discomfort. Noct still doesn't open his eyes, though, and decides to listen to the sound of Prompto humming into the night for the remainder of their journey.

 

* * *

 

Prompto informs him, with a knowing grin, that it’s safe to open his eyes another hour later.

Noct carefully disentangles himself from the other boy, and wipes at his eyelids with the back of his hand. Oddly, he misses Prompto’s warmth as soon as he lets go, but when he finally opens his eyes and takes in their surroundings, he can see why.

The castle is long gone, as is the forest. When Noct cranes his neck and stands on his toes, he can just about make out the grand, imposing structure of the former, reduced into an insignificant speck in the far distance.

They’re standing on flat stone. Noct inspects it further to find that the stone forms part of a jutting plane, and when he tentatively looks over the edge, he can see vast expanses of sloping stone, spanning all the way down a steep incline.

A mountain, then.

“This way!” he hears Prompto call. Noct turns around and blinks rapidly, but the moonlight isn’t strong enough to illuminate whatever Prompto is standing in front of. He allows his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and carefully steps forward, holding an arm out to guide his way.

“Where are we?”

“A hideout of mine,” Prompto answers, as he ducks his way inside of what seems to be a desolate cave. “It comes in handy more times than I can count.”

Noct moves to follow, before an unmistakable growl rumbles right next to his ear. He jerks to the side, lurching out of the way of the silvery, lustrous _wyvern,_ which is currently eying him with head pressed low to the ground, all glittering blue eyes and sharp snarls.

Noct tenses, and physically feels as his palms start dripping slickly with sweat.

“Noctis?”

Prompto rushes to Noct’s side as soon as he hears the prince’s cry, bow at the ready, before visibly relaxing.

“Ah, don’t worry! She’s just being friendly - she’s not gonna hurt you!”

And to Noct’s utter astonishment, Prompto bounds over to the creature, dusts his hands on his tunic, and wraps his arms around her thick neck, scratching at the ivory scales until they shimmer.

Noct stares, mouth so wide a beehive could probably set up residence in there, as the wyvern croons into Prompto’s touch and winds herself around him, like some sort of humongous python.

“Are you sure about that?” he manages, finally convincing his legs to take an apprehensive step forward.

“One hundred percent absolutely certain!” Prompto beams, laughing as she crushes him even more.

 _How…_ “What does that even _mean?”_ Noct croaks.

“Exactly what it sounds like. Tiny wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, girl?”

What.

He halts in his tracks, and lets that one word swirl around his head in a continuous loop.

_What._

“Y-You… You named her _Tiny?”_ Noct sputters, and it comes out incredulous and betrayed.

“...Yes?”

Gods. Prompto is actually _confused._ He shoots Noct a quizzical look, right before the wyvern - _Tiny -_ starts to preen his messy hair.

Noct stares blankly at the scene. Prompto stares back at him, eyes crinkled, and Tiny shoots him a smug look from the top of Prompto’s head. Distantly, Noct hears crickets chirping, at one with the far-off call of the owls in their hunts.

Finally, Noct breaks the silence. “You aren’t joking, are you.”

“Of course not! Tiny is a beautiful name!” Prompto insists, reaching up to pat Tiny’s neck once more, before breaking free of her scaly confines and heading into the cave. He beckons Noct in with one gloved hand. “C’mon, it’s warmer in here.”

Noct doesn’t move a single inch as Prompto busies himself in the cave’s inky depths. He has both eyes trained firmly on the wyvern, who’s slowly unfurling from her position and stretching both armoured legs, barbed tail swishing from side to side.

Maintaining eye contact all the way through, Tiny stalks past him, sending rocks skittering in all directions, before clambering up the side of the cave and perching on the top. She circles round once, twice, before settling into a content circle, with that barbed tail hanging delicately over the entrance.

Noct thinks she’s going to sleep, as he skirts his way around the hanging tail.

He knows better when he looks up, and finds those cerulean slits gazing after him as he leaves.

 

 

 

 

“So.”

“So.” Noct echoes.

Prompto crosses his arms and gives him a searching look. Noct distinctly feels the disapproval roll off of him in waves, and as much as he doesn’t want to, he ends up shrinking back anyway.

“So why were you trying to get yourself killed in the middle of the night?”

“I wasn’t trying to get myself _killed,”_ Noct pouts. “I was just... caught unawares.”

The archer sighs, and the exasperation of it is nearly on the same level of Ignis. “You nearly got mauled by a catoblepas. It was lucky I was out patrolling, or…”

“About that. You really…” Noct swallows, trying to convey what he wants to say without eliciting the same response as that time in the woods.

He decides to be blunt. “Gods, Prompto, you have a _wyvern._ ”

“Of course. Think I lied?” Prompto tips his head to the side, a small smile playing around the corner of his lips.

“No, it’s just…” _You have a wyvern. A wyvern that doesn’t want to wrench your head off._ “Keeping them is illegal here, you know? After that whole mess in the black market, those years back.”

“Yeah, I know. About that…” Prompto’s laughing now, but his voice is pitched a few degrees higher than it just was. The smile’s vanished, replaced by a nervous frown - and Noct feels only a little bit guilty that he put it there, because he _does_ want answers. And Prompto doesn't look like one of those inhumane dragon-keepers from the books. “I was hoping you’d hear me out?”

Noct plops himself down on the cold floor, and beckons Prompto over. “Depends on the story.”

“Okay. Okay,” Prompto says, raking a hand through his hair. He moves so that he’s sitting facing Noct, with a mound of earth and wood between them. “Help me set up this fire first?”

_Oh, no._

All triumphant thoughts of finally getting Prompto to explain his actions are flung out of the window when Noct hears Prompto's request. If he were his father, his fingers would be tingling with anticipation, ready to expertly kindle the logs and illuminate the cave with warmth and light.

However, Noct isn't his father, and he happens to be terrible at magic. He wants to say so, but Prompto's looking at him expectantly - which is when he remembers that the line of Lucis is _renowned_ for their spellwork.

He wishes he could sink into the floor and save himself from the inevitable embarrassment.

Prompto’s just about to open his mouth, when Noct waves a hand at him and cuts him off. He pretends to raise his hand with expertise, and pretends to know exactly what he’s doing when he tilts his fingers this way and that.

Noct even tries stalling for time by unlatching his gauntlet, ever-so-slowly, but it’s set free within the space of ten seconds. Then, he’s left staring hopelessly into the reclining logs, panicking inwardly.

_I guess it’s now or never, huh? Ramuh, please let this not be as bad as the last time..._

He raises his arm, pulls on that little, spontaneous core of the Crystal that resides within himself, and directs the fiery energy to the space laid out in front of him.

Then, he watches with a rapidly sinking feeling when not one, not two, but _three_ colossal balls of flames shoot out of his fingertips, engulf the twigs completely, and make a beeline for the unsuspecting walls.

“What the-!”

_No, no, no, this is worse than the last time-!_

“Agh!”

“Are you-”

The fireballs are ricocheting - they’re _ricocheting_ \- and Prompto’s leapt to his feet, scrabbling uselessly for the canteen skins he keeps stored in his pouch. Noct’s on his feet too, and he’s wrenched off his cloak and is trying to flap out the flames with it -

“Why isn’t it going out?” Prompto squeals, his voice cracking with alarm as he upends gratuitous streams of water into the fire. “Noctis, _the fire isn’t going out!”_

“No, wait, I’ve got this-”

In the depths of his panic, Noct manages to dig deep within the Armiger again. He doesn’t bother with his own magic this time; instead, he fumbles around until he finds some of his father’s pre packed water flasks, grabs at it with increasing desperation, yanks it out and then flings it upwards into the roof of the cave.

The water cascades over them with the force of a river current, and extinguishes the flames in an instant.

It also dampens the logs, drenches the two of them from head to toe in freezing temperatures, and leaves them shivering uncontrollably in the night air.

Noct wants to smack his forehead against the wall.

“My magic isn’t that... great, yet,” he mumbles, rubbing the nape of his neck and looking anywhere but at Prompto. “I’m sorry about this.”

The silence that follows is awkward, and filled to the brim with tension. He gazes determinedly into one specific crack in the floor, and registers how the slow _drip drop_ of water rolls down his clothes and joins the puddles on the floor.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Prompto says - and he doesn’t sound annoyed -  “I used to suck at firing arrows, too.”

Hesitantly, Noct looks up. Prompto’s sporting a crooked grin and holding his sopping sleeves in the air, which makes him look like some sort of deformed scarecrow.

Noct pauses for a fraction of a second, before letting loose a barrage of snorts - very un-Princely, and something that Ignis would probably cry about. He only laughs harder when Prompto joins in, and the two of them are left laughing into the night _long_ after their clothes begin to finally dry.

 

 

 

Prompto's nearly finished wringing out the last drops of water from his swamped boots, when the thought comes to Noct as quickly as it had disappeared.

“Wait. Before you get started, I-” Noct pauses, formulating the apology he had come to give in the first place, and finding that it's suddenly very hard to slot the words into the order he wants. Prompto settles besides him, giving him his full attention, and Noct has never felt so awkward before in his life.  

“Listen, I’m sorry for doubting you. It was wrong of me to do so, and I realise that I hurt your feelings when I did it. You have my... sincerest apologies."

For a beat, Prompto sits there, unwavering and stony-faced. Noct feels tendrils of panic snake up on him and freeze him in their motions, because - did he get it wrong? Was Prompto going to reject him again?

Then Prompto cracks a face-splitting grin, and the relief seeping into Noct's bones is like the feeling he gets when he drinks water after trekking the Leiden desert.

“Sorry, it’s just - you don’t have to be so formal, y’know? It’s just me,” Prompto assures, tone gentle as he pats Noct's shoulder. “Well, I accept the apology. Thanks, Noctis.”

“So quickly?” Despite the relief, Noct can't help but wonder what caused such a switch in attitude.

Prompto shrugs, and rubs the side of his neck. “There’s a bit more to it than that, too…”

“We’ve got all night,” Noct encourages, subtle.

The archer pauses, and Noct holds his breath. Seemingly, though, he needn't have worried, because Prompto comes to an executive decision far quicker than he had expected.

“Try and get comfy, then. This might take some time.”

Noct suppresses the urge to punch the air and follows Prompto’s advice, shifting in his makeshift seat while Prompto leans back in his. He wriggles his toes to try and stave off the chill spreading steadily throughout his feet, and waits for Prompto to start.

Eventually, he does, with a deep sigh and a sharp intake of breath.

“Guess I should start from the beginning, huh? So… I’m not actually from Lucis. I was born in Niflheim, but I escaped from there when I was pretty young.”

That explains the blond hair, then. Noct tries not to let surprise paint his features, and schools his face into one of careful indifference.

“I don't really remember much about Niflheim. Only that there were dragons, everywhere - dragons and wyverns - and so, so many of them, with so many colours and breeds and sizes and - well. I always thought they were kind of... stunning.” Prompto sighs again, wistful. “Used to stare at them while they flew through the sky, all day long. ”

“Dragons? ...Twenty years ago?” Noct questions, just to make sure.

“Yeah. You already know that the ban never reached Niflheim, right? Dragon-keeping is still pretty common there.”

Huh. “I thought they instigated restrictions of their own, soon after we did.” Noct frowns. “That’s what we were told, anyway.”

“Really? That’s what they told you?” Prompto muses. “Actually... that’s not so unexpected. Not many people know what Niflheim get up to behind closed doors.”

The worst part is that Prompto's talking about Niflheim so casually, so civilly - as if it wasn't one of the most imperialistic countries to ever have thrived into present day Eos.

Right now, nothing's set in concrete; yet Noct can still see the beginnings of a political mess heading their way.

“What did they do?” he tries to probe.

“Aren’t they always doing something?” Prompto laughs, bitterly, and the sound of it makes the skin inside Noct’s throat crawl. “The thing is, dragons are good-natured. They’re proud, independent, dangerous if you mess with them… but they’re not unkind. Once they warm up to you, once you form a bond with them, you won’t find a more loyal partner in the world.

“Then, a couple years back, the Emperor decided he’d take advantage of this, and used their loyalty in his own grand schemes.”

A vague feeling of dread starts to gnaw at his mind, and Noct's suddenly not sure whether he really wants to hear the rest. “Go on.”

“There was a plan, a couple of years back. The court proposed it, and the Emperor funded it. Although, I kinda don't think the court really had a choice in the matter. That's just how it goes when you’re part of a corrupt government.

“The scheme involved… a lot. It was horrible. The Emperor funded the project, and his lackeys were all too happy to carry it out. They caught those dragons, wormed their way into their hearts, and when they gained their trust, they..." Prompto swallows, and Noct tenses his jaw.

"The Emperor's always pushed for advancement, ever since he came to power. Ships, warfare, agriculture - you name it. He’s done everything. Usually, he gets the less fortunate to do all the dirty work for him. Except, sometimes? People just don't cut it. Which is when he looked somewhere else. Something with more power, who could speed up the process. He never cared whether-"

Prompto breaks off, abrupt, and Noct realises with a panic-laden jolt that he's looking determinedly away, and raising a sleeve to drag over his eyes.

“Hey, it’s - it’s okay. You don’t have to explain the rest. I get the gist.”

Noct cautiously extends a hand and lets it rest on Prompto's shoulder, before giving it a gentle squeeze. They stay there for a little while, before Prompto looks up.

He nods appreciatively at Noct, but the prince is more startled by the sudden fire that's roared to life behind those striking blue eyes. The sorrow's gone, replaced with something far fiercer; Noct's both intrigued and frightened out of his mind, and he thinks that he'd rather be gored by a catoblepas than meet Prompto head-on with _those_ eyes.

"What he did... it was awful. Horrible. I won't ever forgive him for it," Prompto seethes, shaking with the force of his rage, before composing himself. "The dragons he used... not one of them made it out. The only ones left were the wyverns, and they're generally looked down upon, anyway. People think they're _inferior,_ " and here he scoffs, but it’s far more sad than Noct would’ve liked.  "Niflheim's running out of options, though. They drove dragons to extinction, and since then, the economy's gone haywire. They wouldn't stop at using wyverns if they really needed to. Which is why I'm doing this."

"Doing... this?"

"Yeah. I sneak in, grab a wyvern or two, and get them out of the country. Clean them up a bit, until they don't look as if someone stuck them into a torture chamber, and then stay with them, until I can take them over to Tenebrae. I know a couple of people there who house shelters for abused animals, and they're pretty happy with putting wyverns into their homes, too."

Noct thinks he hears his jaw audibly drop. "You do this all by yourself?"

Prompto reddens furiously under Noct’s incredulous gaze, and rubs awkwardly at his nose - which looks so adorable that Noct has to fight to keep the smile off his face. "Ah, it’s not just me! I've got a couple of friends, too, that do the same. We're all from Niflheim, and we all just sort of... came together, based on a common goal."

"That's... Gods. That’s amazing, Prompto." He doesn’t bother keeping the awe from slipping into his voice.

"I'm just doing my best," Prompto says, nudging Noct’s shoulder with his own. "Sometimes it's hard, though, to let them go. Wyverns get super attached. I mean, look at Tiny. She's like an overprotective mama chocobo, except a bit bigger."

"Yeah,” Noct nudges back, grinning. “A bit."

"Okay, fine. Maybe a _lot_ bigger."

"Maybe a huge amount, more like."

"You calling her fat?"

Prompto’s arching an eyebrow and pursing his lips, disapproval colouring his every feature. Noct stares back with equal attitude, and manages to hold the gaze for all of five seconds, before they both erupt into a flurry of guffaws and giggles.

Prompto’s wiping an eye when he comes back up for air. "So... I hope that explains it. See why I couldn't really answer your questions back in the forest? It would've given me away."

"Well, why did you decide to tell me now?"

"I kind of realised that _you_ of all people could be trusted. Besides,” and now the blonde’s got that shit-eating grin plastered across his face, “the look on your face when you saw her was _priceless."_

“Hey!”

Noct pushes him again, and the force of it nearly sends Prompto sprawling into the dust. _Wow, he’s pretty light,_ he thinks, before a fist flies at his face and actually sends him sprawling into the dust.

They tussle for a bit, and Prompto good-naturedly cackles and drives his knuckles into Noct’s scalp. It hurts, in a twisted sort of way - because Noct thinks that he’s never had this much fun with a near-stranger, or with anyone, his entire life. It’s a new feeling, and it’s a dawning realisation that he realises that he’d really like to experience it on a more regular basis.

Eventually, they return to their sitting positions, except this time Noct shuffles until their shoulders are squashed firmly together.

 _Some biceps he’s got,_ he muses to himself, before shaking away the thought. He pushes Prompto’s biceps into the deep, deep recesses of his mind, and instead takes the opportunity to bring up something he noticed before.

"I meant what I said,” Noct starts, turning so that he’s looking directly into Prompto’s eyes, sincere. “I think you're wonderful. It's not very often I come across a man saving an entire species."

Prompto, bless him, actually _squeaks._ Like a mouse.

 _So adorable,_ Noct thinks, heart squeezing with affection.

"That's... Noctis, you're making me blush."

Noct takes a moment to appreciate how Prompto’s freckles become much more prominent when he’s blushing _(like stars glittering in the night sky),_ before ploughing on.

"But that's dangerous, too,” Noct frowns, while turning over the possibilities in his head. All of them are tainted with violence, one way or another. “You can't just... waltz into Niflheim like that. What if you get caught?"

Prompto shrugs, and Noct wants to explode, he feels so outraged. "I've been doing it for so long, it's nearly second nature by now. Don't worry, seriously."

_‘Don’t worry’, my foot._

Noct leans forward, takes a risk, and grasps Prompto’s hand with both of his. They’re so smooth; smooth like the decadent chocolate desserts Ignis makes sometimes, when Noct’s been especially diligent, oozing with caramel and cream - _he’s an archer, how are they so soft? -_ and Prompto gives a little gasp, so Noct clutches his hand even more fervently.

"I'll speak with my father,” he assures, voice strong and steady. “He's a good man. He’ll listen, and we'll sort something out."

"I..." Prompto visibly swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. "Noctis, are you-"

"No arguments. It's an order."

Prompto stares at him for a little while longer, eyes transfixed and mouth parted the barest of an inch, before slumping forward and exhaling lowly.

"Ever the pushy prince, huh?" Prompto looks up with a little smile. "But... wow. Thank you. That's... I don't want any reward, you know? I just want to see them all safe and sound."

Noct thinks for a minute, before giving his answer.

“You’ll be safe. I think that’s a good enough reward for me.”

This time, he doesn’t stop laughing when Prompto starts to sputter and cough, and finally lurches backwards into a comical heap, hiding his face in the folds of his cloak.

 

 

 

Prompto explains quite a few things before they turn into bed. He explains the significance of the bell; how ringing it doesn’t produce any sound because dragonkin are capable of detecting far lower frequencies than humans, how he uses it to call Tiny from the air, and how desperate he had been to find it when he realised he’d lost it.

“You lost something that important?” Noct had laughed, and Prompto had given him a deadpan look.

Now, though, they’ve turned in for the night. Noct’s tucked himself securely into a soft swaddle of blankets, bundling himself into a roll until he looks like a cocoon with a tuft of black hair poking out at the top. He peeks over at where Prompto’s settling into his own bedroll not far off, and then sneaks a look at the cave entrance, where the rain’s finally cleared up the sky, revealing splodges of stars and the faint outline of the moon. They’ve got at least five hours until dawn, and Noct knows if he sleeps _now,_ he’ll be able to get the full five hours.

Except he can’t, because… it’s cold.

Ridiculously cold.

So cold that the prince plunges himself deeper into his nest and brings his legs up to curl into a circular position, much like how Balthier sleeps next to his fireplace. He wraps the top of the blanket over his head, and tries huffing hot air into his hands and rubbing them over his icy feet in an attempt to generate heat, but he still feels like he’s dived straight into a glacier.

 _Shiva, is that you?_ he cries, silently. _Have you come to freeze me into oblivion?_

He gets no response, and bites back a whimper as another blast of frigid air blows directly into his blanket pile, like a sword to the chest.

Gods. Gods, this is awful. Lucis is a hot country, and he’s _used_ to the hot country, so why on Eos did he decide to fly up to a _mountain cave of all places -_

“Oh, for the love of Six, just come here.”

The voice comes out nowhere and disrupts his internal whining. Noct forces himself to poke his head out and expose his face to the piercing winds, shaking all the while. There, he sees that Prompto has rolled over to face him, all the way from the other side of the cave.

“What?” Noct whispers, teeth clinking together like wine glasses.

Prompto snorts, and inclines his head. “I’m pretty sure I can hear you shivering. C’mon. Body heat’s especially good for cold nights, and I can’t exactly let the Prince of Lucis die from hypothermia!”

Is he - is he suggesting - ?

“You want me to-” _Astrals,_ Noct can feel his voice _squeaking -_

“J-Just - come on! I’m getting cold, too!” Prompto hurriedly averts his eyes and gazes determinedly into the extremely fascinating roof.

Noct fixates on Prompto’s face, searching desperately for any kind of clue as to what the blond’s thinking. Finding none, since Prompto’s helpfully decided to revert to the speech capabilities of a muffin, Noct sighs and considers his options.

He could either stay here in his lonely blanket, and freeze. Or, he could roll over and join Prompto, and share… body heat. Somehow.

Noct rolls over.

He rolls, dragging the blankets along with him in a trail of cloth, until he’s also laying on his back and gazing determinedly into the roof. This time, though, he’s approximately two feet away from Prompto, and even colder, because this patch of floor hasn’t been laid on for the past thirty minutes - and so is delightfully _freezing._

Noct swallows, audibly. His throat has adopted the texture of one of Gladio’s cakes, and he really wants the body heat, right about _now._

“Er, you could always… shuffle a bit closer?” Prompto clears his throat, shy. “I mean, you’re not getting any warmer that way…”

Noct sneaks a look at him. To his surprise, Prompto himself has edged closer - only an inch, but it’s _something,_ because it does something to ease the anxiety that’s been pooling in his gut.

Noct clutches the blankets, and shuffles closer; awkwardly, until his knees bump with Prompto’s. He gives a small _‘oof’_ and stops shuffling.

Noct lies still, anticipating the sweet release from the icy prison he’d been trapped in. For a moment, it feels as if there won’t be one; he’s still trembling and blinking rapidly.

It’s not until he gathers the blankets and bunches them tighter around his ankles that the sensation begins to trickle in, like the tantalisingly slow opening of hot spring gates on a winter morning.

This… This is warm. It’s _warm. Gods,_ he’d forgotten what warmth felt like.

The floor doesn’t feel like ice anymore. It must be a miracle, because he can curl his toes, and his fingers don’t feel like skeleton appendages. Astrals, even his breath feels warmer - it feels like _real breath._

Noct snuggles into his blankets, content and pliant, and makes a noise of appreciation that has Prompto stifling giggles. He then turns onto his side and faces the archer.

“Thank you… “ Noct yawns, his face smooshed into the floor, “this is so much warmer…”

Prompto yawns, too, all previous inhibitions seemingly forgotten as he watches Noct drift on the edges of slumber.

“I’m glad you’re warm… thought you were about to cause an earthquake with all that shivering.”

Noct snorts, and wriggles his way out of the top of his cocoon to face Prompto properly. The frigid air still pummels his face with startling accuracy, but he manages to ignore most of that discomfort in lieu of focusing on the warmth spreading through his legs.

 _Just a little more, and then I’ll go to sleep,_ he reassures himself, as he settles on a topic to breach.

“I can’t believe you called her,” and Noct snorts, again, _“Tiny.”_

“What? T’sa good name, y’know.” Prompto sounds defensive, but he’s got that half-smile on, the one that screams _I’m-trying-very-hard-not-to-smile-but-I’m-awful-at-it._

“She’s hardly _tiny._ You should’ve called her… I don’t know.” He ponders for a while, partly drowsy and unbothered, partly struggling to comb through a list of names.

He settles on one that doesn’t sound too awful. “Ophelia.”

At this, Prompto outright _laughs_ at him, and Noct feels vaguely offended.

“Why Ophelia, of all things?”

“It’s a pretty name!”

“Sounds like the name of a horse carriage.”

“Hey, are you insulting my name?” Noct’s propped himself up on one elbow, now.

Prompto winks, and it’s horrendous. “Are you going to have me hanged, Your Highness?”

 _Not this, again._ “Didn’t I tell you to call me Noctis?” Noct says, loud and exasperated, like a scorned cat.

Prompto grins widely, and waggles his eyebrows in a way which gives Noct severe secondhand embarrassment. “Oh no! My sincere apologies, Your Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, the hundred and fourteenth of his name-”

_"Prompto!”_

“Hah!”

Noct delivers his ultimate blow - _The Glare -_ and watches fondly while Prompto throws his head back and laughs without restraint.

It’s definitely an unforgettable sound; rambunctious and explosive, and punctuated with chortles when he tries to cover his mouth. Then Prompto slips on his own elbow, and gives an annoyed groan when his head hits the floor, but he still can’t stop huffing with mirth and shining eyes.

When Prompto finally stops, still snickering, Noct realises that the tug that’s been pulling at his heart is one of disappointment.

Noct shuffles a bit closer, nearly closing the gap between the two. There’s only a couple of inches between them now, but he finds that he hardly cares. Rather, he feels a far more pleasant and tingly sensation when he does so. Besides, they’re probably what could be considered _good friends_ at this point - or so he hopes, anyway.

And isn’t this what friends do?

A low rumble resounds from the cave entrance. As Noct looks up sleepily, he finds Tiny ambling her way inside. He watches with morbid fascination as she drapes herself lengthways across the floor directly in front of them, so that she’s blocking most of the bitter blasts of air.

He feels a surge of gratefulness, and immediately resolves to pet her the minute he gets up.

“Go to sleep, Noctis,” Prompto says, closing his eyes and snuggling into his own blanket. “I’m taking you back first thing in the morning. You should get some rest.”

Noct takes one last look up at Tiny. The vast expanse of her scaled back heaves and sinks in tune with her every snore, and the sound of those are oddly comforting. He thinks he’s beginning to understand why Prompto had gotten so heated at their fireside talk before.

There’s a slim sliver of the outside world he can see, where the cave entrance hasn’t been obscured by her watchful form. Through the little gap, if he squints and scrunches his cheeks hard enough, it looks as if there are snowflakes slowly fluttering to the ground, too - painting the sky with a brush of white.

Noct shifts his gaze, and draws the blankets up,

“Sweet dreams, Prompto.”

  
  


 

When he feels himself swimming along the edges of consciousness again, it’s dark, and he’s being enveloped in comforting heat. Noct feels no urge to get up; here, there’s no Ignis gently shaking his shoulder, and there’s no Gladio banging on the door, either.

 _It’s nice,_ he thinks, as he wills himself to drift back to sleep.

Noct shifts a bit more, aiming to entice more warmth into the folds of his covers, when he realises that there’s something blocking his way. Frowning, he tries again, nudging his nose into the space in front of him. It doesn’t hit any barrier, but it does skim against something smooth. Inwardly, through his sleep-riddled haze, Noct groans, realising that he’ll have to open his eyes.

He cracks one eye open, ever-so-slowly. Gods, that light is _strong -_ and is that a faint whiff of - berries?

Noct opens his eyes, gradually, and then all in one go, like a startled rabbit.

He forces down a strangled scream, because - why is he snuggled into Prompto’s neck?

 _Astrals, does that mean the weight on my waist is his_ arm? _Is he holding me in my sleep?_

Noct gulps, and he’s sure that it’s audible. Prompto doesn’t hear it, though, and continues snoring lightly.

_What did I do?_

He takes a breath; as deep as he can make it without rousing the other boy.

_Calm down. This is easy. Just gotta slowly wriggle out of his grip…_

Noct clenches his fists (why are his hands slung around Prompto’s hip? _When did that happen?)_ and makes his move.

The thing is, he only gains the distance of a blind snail, because Prompto’s grip is frighteningly strong - even in his sleep. This… presents a problem.

Noct is squashed; blinking into Prompto’s skin and trying desperately not to alert the archer to wakefulness, because this is definitely not what he had envisioned when Prompto had told him to move closer. If he woke up, now, how was he supposed to explain himself? _Oh, sorry, I happen to cuddle my friends in my sleep?_

_Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic._

Noct tries, again, to stealthily disentangle himself from Prompto’s deathlike grasp. He wriggles, shimmies and squeezes his way around Prompto’s limbs, carefully lifting those slender fingers, one by one.

He thinks he’s nearly made it, when suddenly Prompto lets out a long sigh. Noct freezes in the middle of his escape, utterly terrified.

After what seems like eons, Prompto sighs again. Then, the archer shifts onto his back, squeezing Noct even harder and bringing the prince with him.

Which means that Noct is now _on top of Prompto,_ nestled into his neck.

Noct panics.

_What do I do? Do I just - get off? But, he’s holding me, so wouldn’t that wake him? Should I stay here? Gods, where’s Iggy when you need him?_

Noct pauses, and tries not to breathe so loudly. This, is of course, fails, and he nearly costs himself by narrowly escaping a coughing fit right into Prompto’s face.

At least he manages to lift his head.

From his new vantage point, Noct can pick out each individual freckle that dances along Prompto’s skin; and how his long lashes lie softly against his cheeks; and how his chest moves just a fraction of an inch up and down, in tune with his steady breathing. Even his hair looks soft, and Noct gets the sudden urge to run his hands over it, just to get a feel for the silken locks - even if it _is_ the worst bedhead he’s ever seen, and closely resembles an electrocuted chocobo.

Noct’s painfully aware that his internal contemplation sounds like one of Gladio’s books, but at this point he’s too spooked and awkward to bother caring, so he decides to accept it as it is.

When he finally tears his gaze away from the dozing blond and looks up, he finds Tiny already awake. The wyvern's gaze bores into him, but Tiny doesn't make a move at the scene. The only other indication that she's awake is the constant, steady swish of her tail.

He sees where Prompto gets the mama chocobo vibe from.

Noct holds Tiny's gaze, before breaking it off and looking down at Prompto again. His hands are trapped under Prompto's back, now - so even if he wanted to, he couldn't move anyway, right?

Besides. He’s so, _so_ warm right now, and if he wakes Prompto up over this little mishap, they’ll probably separate out of sheer embarrassment, and then Noct’ll be back to feeling _cold_ again. Why make it awkward if it doesn’t even have to be?

This is fine - if he pretends that he was asleep the whole way through, too.

Mind made up, Noct nods decisively, and lowers himself, slow and steady, onto Prompto's chest.

It’s nice. It’s markedly intimate, too, and the thought makes the blood freeze in his veins… but it’s nice. It’s _warm,_ and that’s what matters. Anyway: he can’t do anything about it, can he?

Noct grins, dopily, and goes back to sleep.

 

 

 

He wakes up properly - and alone -  a couple of hours later. It’s still snowing: dusting the stones with a thin layer of powdery white, and when Noct finally makes his way out of the cave, he finds Prompto brushing and cooing at a rumbling and happy wyvern.

The sight is adorable.

“Morning!” Prompto sounds as peppy as ever.

“Morning…”

While he faux-yawns, Noct sneaks a glance at Prompto. The archer continues to hum, rubbing circles into Tiny’s back, but otherwise giving no indication that he wanted to talk about the night’s… events. Does he even remember?

Noct squints some more, but Prompto’s focusing squarely on making Tiny preen and flex her well-defined shoulders.

Huh.

The prince plonks himself down on the floor, and watches as Prompto finishes off with the brush. The blond claps his hands on his thighs, before delving his hands into his satchel and bringing out two tightly wrapped packages.

He offers one to Noct. “Have some breakfast.”

_Does he really… not remember?_

Apparently not - but that’s a good thing, Noct decides. A very good thing, because it means that he’s dodged an arrow the size of an apple, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

Shaking his head, Noct eyes the package, trying not to let his doubt show ( _please let there be no vegetables in there.)_ He leans forward and plucks it out of Prompto’s upturned palm. Then, he peels back the corner of one, meticulous, before taking a tentative bite.

His eyes widen involuntarily, because this is is good - delicious, in fact. He informs Prompto, who only grins even wider and strikes a ludicrous victory pose, which leaves the two of them laughing into the crisp morning air.

They’ve been doing a lot of that, Noct’s noticed, as he packs up their supplies. Laughing. His sides ache with the effort of it, but it’s a pleasant throb; one that pulsates with bliss.

“You ready?” Prompto’s come up behind him, doing a clean sweep of the area and making sure they’re leaving nothing behind. Noct can see Tiny in his peripheral vision, pawing the ground with impatience.

“As I’ll ever be,” Noct replies, flashing Prompto a smile. He saunters up to the wyvern, giving her a soft pat, before swinging himself on without hesitation.

Prompto follows suit, pulling himself up into the space in front of Noct. He adjusts both their legs so that Tiny’s wings aren’t brushing against them, and Noct can’t pretend that Prompto’s touch doesn’t send sparks flying across his skin.

“Hold on tight!” the archer tells him, before whistling sharply.

Tiny starts to move, her wings pushing through the air. It’s slow at first, then much faster as she builds up momentum and altitude. Noct looks over Prompto’s shoulder, at the horizon. He can faintly make out the castle; it’s still a measly speck, but it’s getting closer, and that thought fills him with ecstasy.

They rise, higher and higher. Noct can’t see the cave anymore. The body underneath him shakes and vibrates, and it’s comforting, knowing that something so strong’s keeping him upright.

Noct wraps his arms around Prompto’s waist, and presses himself as close as he can get. Every mountain he can see is blanketed with powdery snow, like the scenes out of one of his Cosmogony books. Flurries of flakes blow about his face, leaving a cool taste on his lips. It’s refreshing, and he finds himself holding Prompto tighter, just so he can peer out into the moving landscape underneath them.

This time, Noct doesn’t close his eyes.

 

 

 

“Here you go.”

Noct hops off as Tiny touches down on the forest floor, mind whirring with everything he's just seen. The flight was _surreal_ ; Noct desperately wishes he could have the entirety of it seared into his mind, just to immortalise the breathtaking wildlife he'd been witness to.

Prompto’s still seated atop the silver creature, giving him that crooked half-smile he’s come to know so well over the past few months. This is their final parting, Noct realises - after this, he’s got no reason to see Prompto again, and the thought leaves him saddened.

“Thank you,” Noct says, pushing away those particular fears, “for everything.”

Prompto laughs, light and airy. “It was nothing, really.”

Noct hesitates, before taking a the plunge. “Will I be seeing you again?”

For a moment, he thinks he’s destroyed any chance of forming any sort of correspondence with the archer, because he’s looking at him oddly. Noct internally berates himself, harsh and unforgiving - _you idiot, you messed it up!_

Then, Prompto flips his hood over and winks, and his next words are enough to brighten Noct’s mood immediately. “We’ll see. Take care, now.”

The prince smiles, broad. “I will. The same goes for you.”

Noct turns on his heel and trudges back up towards the castle, just like he did all those months ago. This time, however, the feelings of resentment are replaced with much more spirited emotions - happiness, excitement, anticipation, longing. He feels an inherent sense of giddiness rise up in him, threatening to bubble up and spill over the brim.

Noct looks back, one last time, and he can’t stop his heart when it skips joyfully in his chest; because Prompto’s still waiting there, at the spot where they parted. The blond gives him a little wave, and Noct reciprocates, smiling all the while.

 

* * *

 

The papers stacked atop his desk couldn't get any higher, Noct thinks, as he groans and thuds his head against the table.

Damn Ignis and his damn punishments. However much Noct had tried to reassure him that he'd been completely _fine_ , his adviser had taken one look at his tattered clothes before sentencing him to paperwork duty for the rest of the month.

He’d also taken away his desserts, and had told Gladio to push him harder during training - so hard, that he’d had trouble getting out of bed this morning. Noct had never thought limbs could feel like molten lead before, until now.

On top of _that,_ his father had given him the Fatherly Frown of Disapproval, _again._ Noct had wanted nothing more to melt into the furniture, and become one with the royal chair.

 _Gods,_ he’s so tired. He just wants to _sleep -_

_Thwack!_

He's broken out of his mindless self-pitying when a sharp sound clatters against his window, rattling the glass with a tinkle. Noct shoots up, startled, hand inching towards the dagger strapped to his thigh - just as another _thwack_ sounds again.

He cranes his neck and scrutinises the glass, and watches as another flying object hurtles towards the windowpane.

It's a pebble. Someone's throwing... _stones_ at his window.

_Who…?_

“Noctis, Noctis, let down your hair!”

Oh. _That’s_ who.

He knows this voice, so when he flings the window open and steps out into the balcony, he can't keep the enormous grin from spreading across his face. He leans against the balustrade, and lets the sheer joy wash over him in overwhelming waves, like rays of sunshine.

“Does it look like I have hair that long?” Noct teases, peering down at a wind-ruffled and grinning Prompto.

Prompto waggles his fingers at him, and takes off his hood. “Good to see you, too!” he calls, in that sunny voice Noct’s grown to adore.

“What brings you here, anyway? How did you manage to get past the guards?”

“For all your fancy security, the guards never think to look up.” Prompto gestures cheekily to his right, where a disgruntled wyvern balances on one foot and scratches at her silver scales with the other.

“Wow, Prompto,” Noct laughs, loud and excited. “Risking your life to see me in the dead of night? I’m flattered!”

“What can I say? I couldn’t - how d’you put it? I couldn’t bear to be away from you for a single second!”

Prompto mock-swoons, closing his eyes and pretending to topple onto the floor. Instead, he only manages to lean against a haughty Tiny, and Noct makes sure that the groan he lets out is loud enough for Prompto hear.

“That was _horrible.”_

“Oh, shush,” Prompto says, dusting himself off.  “Anyway, you coming down, or what?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, still directing that smile at Noct.

Noct feels joy bubbling up in him, like one of the concoctions in Iris’ cauldron. “Where are we going?” he calls, closing the window behind him.

“Well, Tiny’s feeling a bit restless, and I thought another flight would feel really nice today. There’s a full moon, and you can see so many stars tonight. _All_ of them, Noctis!”

Noct feels his heart flutter in his ribcage, like a butterfly in the wind, because... Prompto thought of _him?_

That’s - wow.

The simple thought of it, of Prompto looking at the stars and thinking that Noct would enjoy looking at them, too - it’s enough to make him want to scream his happiness into the sky, guards be damned.

Instead, Noct props his chin on his hands, and smiles down at the archer. He thinks that the words he wants to say are conveyed well enough in that one expression, anyway.

“I’ll come down - if you call me Noct.”

He holds his gaze, tilts his chin in a challenge.

Prompto doesn't even hesitate. He huffs, fond, before saying: “All right. Come down, pretty please, _Noct?_ ”

The prince’s only answer is to fling down some rope.

"You'd better do some loops this time," Noct tells him, breathless, before leaping over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only Prompto could be a Fire Emblem unit. :(
> 
> Originally, this chapter was titled 'DIALOGUE IS HARD', because I am... super iffy about the dialogue. AHHH. I GAVE IT MY BEST SHOT???
> 
> ANYWAY, AHH! MY FRIEND!! I hope you enjoyed this! I had so much fun writing it (evidently... I have never written this much in one go, _ever_ , so I hope you had at least as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Our friendship is one that I cherish greatly, so I wanted to make something that reflected that. :)
> 
> And to my readers: YOU ALL KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU. OOPS. YOUR COMMENTS AND KINDNESS MAKE MY DAY - ALL DAY, EVERY DAY. <33
> 
>  
> 
> [tumble!](https://whimsofffate.tumblr.com)


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